Fallen From Grace
by illman
Summary: A difficult case costs Jack his job, his marriage and nearly his life. Can things ever go back to the way they were? COMPLETE
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own the WaT gang or their universe.

Title: Fallen From Grace

Summary: You can't win them all.

Rating: PG-13

A/N: This is somewhat different from my previous stories and might just be totally unreadable. Thanks to A, K, E and the MSt gang. You all rock!

Prologue

December 10, 2003

Causality – science's answer to the question why. The loyal opposing force of fate. Every effect is inevitably followed by a cause, which in turn will father a new effect. An endless cycle of causes and effects, running since the beginning of time. It was impossible to escape the clutches of causality escapable. It was cruel, blind to the destruction it might leave in its wake. But cause and effect are what gives actions meaning, because it attaches consequences to them. Actions make for responsibility because of their effects. It is what allows man to plan ahead to concoct schemes to reach his goals. It allows man to plot for gains and avoid losses, yet it also out the terrible weight of responsibility on the shoulders of man. This weight often seems to have to carry because it all is so complex and nothing ever is simple. Countless actions of countless individuals in their complex interplay make it impossible to predict any consequence that even the smallest action will have. These interactions which have shaped the course of history are impossible to navigate and everyone is flying blind. But everyone is in the game, there is no way to call a time out, our just pass for a round or two. The absence of action is subject to just the same causality as actions. Sometimes the unpredictability of what will happen because of man's actions makes it appear that he is no better of free to choose than trapped in the web of fate. No amount of planning and foresight can account or all contingencies. Even the best actions with the best intentions driving them can turn bad. The right outcome is never guaranteed and there is no insurance policy against side-effects. And in the gritty real world, intentions and actions hardly ever are pure, conflicting motives just obscure the jungle of events more, to the point where individuals can get lost. They are like the butterfly that unwillingly and unknowingly sets off a tornado affecting hundreds, if not thousands of lives in one way or another.  
  
How so many small elements could set of events that would change lives forever? It happened every day in a small way. But this time it had happened in such a cruel and violent way, that it had left all involved stunned and hurting. They all their share of guilt to bear, they all had played their role in it, unknowingly reacting to situations while being blindly heading into disasters. None of them had had ill intentions; they had done what had seemed best at the time, what the circumstances warranted. They were all human and made human mistakes, but this time all the small mistakes, oversights and thoughtlessness seemed to have added up. From the point of justice the criminals were others, but the question remained on their minds that they should have done some things differently. On the job, they often were confronted with their own powerlessness, but this time it seemed beyond understanding. 

~Samantha~

Time didn't have meaning anymore. Memories floated through her mind, like a stream running down a hill. The boundaries between dream and reality had become blurred. She was incapable of making the distinction between the two, nor did she want to. It's peaceful, the memories, good and bad, are blurred, unreal, they cannot harm her anymore, she's safe from the horrors. They are being held prisoner by the past and cannot reach her. Just occasionally the peaceful journey was interrupted by a spark of fear. It is in those moments that she became fully aware of what is going on, it is in those moments when she realized that she was going to die soon and that there was nothing she could do about it.

She didn't want to wake up, she tried to force her mind back into the dream-like state, but it had a life of its own and there was no way she could stop it. Her mind pushed towards consciousness, bringing the return of pain in it's wake. As her mind and body transitioned from blissful sleep to waking, her acing muscles accelerated to return of memory.

It were the moments between sleep and waking when sense have just barely returned and memory is blissfully absent, that have been the only moments of calm lately. But now she had been chased from that peaceful place once again. She pulled herself up, as far as her weakened arms will allow her. Pain accompanies her effort, and she has to pause several times, before she has worked herself up to a leaning position. She wonders why she keeps doing this. Tonight it'll all be over. She glances at the spot where her watch used to be, but isn't anymore. It's just a trained reaction. They had taken her watch making it impossible to know the exact time. Although it is very frustrating, it doesn't really change their situation much, if she knew the time. Insides these walls, time has taken on a whole new meaning, it has ceased to be important what time of the day, or what day of the week it is. 

She has no way of telling for hiw long she has been asleep, the meals are the only way to estimate the passage of time, and as far as she can tell, her waking periods are becoming shorter. It must have something to do with whatever they put into the food, or with the blow to the head yesterday. Or maybe it wasn't yesterday. She wasn't sure. Serious head injury can lead to subdural haematoma and can manifest itself as loss of consciousness and prolonged periods of sleep as a result of pressure on the brain increasing.

She read that somewhere, it had something to do with a case. A missing scientist, something like that. The details were blurry. She could feel that the information she was looking for was right there, just beyond her reach. She gave up on trying to recall the facts. It was an exercise in futility, especially in light of her dire situation. But it didn't matter. Regardless of whether the blow to the head had resulted in more serious complications, she wasn't going to die from them. She didn't have that much time left. Something must have happened. After days of nothing happening, things had suddenly changed. Maybe they now felt that the FBI was after them. The disappearance of two agents must have give rise to a massive investigation. But in all likelihood, that wasn't going to be of any use to her. On the contrary, it might very well have been what had provoked their attackers to get rid of them for good. But it this point all speculation was pointless, unless something extremely improbably come to their advantage there was no way out. She glanced over to the other corner. Danny was lying on his idea, he didn't seem to have moved since the previous night. But his chest is till rhythmically rising and falling. Shallow, but the movement is there. He was still alive, Sam noted with relief. Part of her envied him, he was blissfully away from all this. Part of her was glad that she was awake. Not that knowing what was happening changed anything, but it left her with some remnant of control, or at least helped her uphold the illusion of it. That part of her wished that Danny was awake. She needed someone to talk to, the silence was becoming unbearable. It seemed as if the volume of her thoughts was proportional to the lack of noise from outside. Normally, in the busy and hectic daily life, complete silence is rare and usually doesn't occur unless one makes an effort to create it and even then those moments are rare. One is so used to having noise drown out part of the incessant mental banter that it become seven more unbearable when the noise suddenly stops.. To be able to escape her thoughts for a while, that's all she wanted right now. She wanted to find some peace. She wasn't so much scared, fear has long made way to resignation and acceptance. It is strange how the brain adapts to the most extreme circumstances. She had never thought that this could happen and certainly not that it would happen to her. Her own calm took her by surprise. She wasn't the passive type and never had been. As a kid, fighting back had gotten her into quite some trouble, her fighting against the world she had grown up in was the chief reason why she and her mother had not spoken in months. But now she seemed to be able to accept her fate with such passivity, which she would never have thought possible. Maybe it was whatever drugs she had been given, or maybe it was sheer self-preservation. The brain is geared towards survival. To do this, it has to adapt to the circumstances. The brain is trying to protect. Adaptivity is the key to survival. She had just learned to conserve her resources, preserving what little strength she has left. It all made sense. But she was fighting against impossible odds. A brief cynical smile crept over her face. She draws her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. The posture gives her a small measure of comfort as the waiting game begins anew. The wait for the end.

~Martin~

Right now, his statement was being read by many people, people who had the power to push careers but also to end them. It was not his career that was on the line. He was watching it all unfold from the sidelines, his only sources of information being the media, who had found a welcome meal in the debacle, and the seemingly to seldom visits from friends and colleagues. He had seen jack only once, before it all taken the final turn, heading into the downward spiral. Vivian, his father and a few agents he had occasionally worked with had been his only source of information, neither offering an untainted view. But that would be too much to expect. They all had high emotional stakes in there, not too mention their career and with that the future of their families. He only needed to make a statement about the events he had been partial to. By the point where he had been off the playing field, the real tragedy ha don't yet unfolded, although the dark shadows had been on the horizon. He had been blind to them, or had wanted to be blind to them. He had let feelings influence his judgment. He wasn't at fault, it had not been his call to make, nor did anyone cast blame in his direction. But the lingering question, whether he could have done something to prevent all this was echoing through his mind, as he shifted uncomfortable flipping the channels again in hopes if finding a newscast somewhere. His statement was as factual as possible; everything he had stated was true and had happened. It was just not all in there. Telling it all wouldn't make a difference. There was nobody to bring to justice, all it would do was cause pain and tarnish the reputation of good agents. But that was all he could do. He didn't do it to help Jack Malone, whose glaring mistakes had been what had set off the spiral of horrors. He did it to protect Sam, even though it was most probable of no use. Jack and he should have seen that she wasn't fit, they had failed. But it was too late to make amends now. He had missed his chance and so had Jack. He wasn't going to see her again; he wasn't going to be able to tell her that he didn't blame her for what had happened.

~Danny~

It was odd. It was one of those few times when he was aware that he was dreaming. He wasn't really dreaming, it was more of drifting between waking and uncertain memories. He wasn't close enough to reality to be immediately aware of his surrounding, but something told him that there was no friendly world outside waiting for him to wake up. He didn't really recall any details, but the emotion was deeply engrained his thoughts, as he sought refuge in thoughts and memories. The borderline between fantasy and memory was blurred, one fading into the other. It didn't matter where he was now, in his mind, he was again, the lonely frightened, boy sitting on his suitcase waiting to be picked up by yet another family. He had felt lost and forgotten, that was the clearest memory of that grey February day. Why he returned to that moment in his life over and over again, was not clear to him. It was just the point in time where his errant thoughts came to a rest. Time was standing still. He was sitting in his suitcase, staring out the window, seeing the mass of cars moving, the uniform hum of their engines having become habitual during days and nights. He was afraid of the unknown that was awaiting him, but he also craved release from the world he was in. 

****

~Jack~

The sky above was the same grey as two hours ago. It was indifferent to the madness that had turned Jack Malone's world upside down. The sky was still the same as two hours ago when he had walked into the building as an FBI agent. The same clouds were still up there, chasing each other now that he was walking out, back to his car, an unemployed man. A drop of rain hit him, then another one and another. He couldn't care less. The rain was the least of his concerns right now. It was all over, a career of nearly thirty years was over. A part of what made him Jack Malone was gone. And it was his fault. He would have to live with that for the rest of his life. Technically, it was not entirely over yet. But he was suspended pending further investigation of the matter. But there had been little doubts about the outcome of this investigation. There was more than enough to put a stop to his career or pull the plug on it entirely. And influential people, including Victor Fitzgerald had an active interest in that.

But still, the bitter irony was, that he had incredibly lucky. His mistakes, oversights and misinterpretations had cost other people their lives. he had only lost his job, they had trusted him and had lost everything. As if he hadn't really noticed that heavy rain until then, he looked up at the dark grey sky, pulling his suit coat up. The world continued to turn. He would have to deal with that. There was no going back, no rewriting the past. And even of he could do, I wasn't even sure where it had all gone wrong: too many loose ends, too many cover-ups. There was still something about the bigger picture of those two cases that he was missing. He had taken too long to realize the full implications of what was in front of them. Vivian and Danny had tried to persuade him, but he had not listened to their argument. 

Long after the rain stopped and night had started to fall, he made his way to the car at the far end of the parking lot. He didn't care how many people had been staring at him, he was blind to them.

~Vivian~

The office was busy as ever. Agents were going about their daily work like on any other day. She had come into the office with just that intention. It was a day like any other. That's what she had been telling herself. Yet she had the greatest difficulties concentrating on her work. She was doing a background check on a list of people involved with a disappeared car salesman. None of them were suspects, but they had to be checked out none the less. The task was tedious, but she suspected that nothing would be able to hold her attention today. No matter how hard she convinced herself that she had nothing to fo with this and that she had done everything possible to prevent the catastrophe, she still found her thoughts returning to the hearing that was about to take place in Washington D.C. Her career wasn't directly on the line and if anything her actions would be a bonus on her behalf, but that didn't chance the

Jack had made mistakes that no agents should have made, and while she agreed that there would have to be consequences, she would hate the see the career of a good agents end over this. Too many good people had already been lost over this.


	2. 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the WaT gang or their universe.

Title: Fallen From Grace

Summary: You can't win them all.

Rating: PG-13

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Jack Malone's apartment, New York City

November 21, 2003

6.15 am

It was still dark outside when he had gotten up. In fact, during the winter months, he hardly ever saw daylight through the window of his apartment. He left before dawn and usually returned long after dark. Today the blackness outside seemed to mirror the gloomy atmosphere hanging over the breakfast table.

Jack Malone had just opened the newspaper when the phone rang.

At this time of the day, the ringing of the phone rarely meant good news. A glance at caller ID confirmed his initial feeling. He was about to be called to work and the reason was never a pleasant one. Someone, someone's parent, child, spouse or friend had gone missing. As he had gotten up to answer, he had not missed the stern look that Maria had given him. She too knew what was happening. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. He knew that he had promised to take the kids to school that morning. He hesitate for a second, then picked up. It was Vivian.

"Morning Jack. There is a new case. I don't have a lot of details yet. Apparently there was a fire and now a woman is missing." Vivian came right to the point.

Jack shifted into professional mode, forgetting his surroundings, fully focussing on the case.

"I'll meet you there as soon as possible." he paused and it occurred to him that he had already another commitment at the moment.

"No, take Danny and Samantha with you there, I'll meet you at the office later. Keep me updated." 

Jack deliberately avoided details. But he knew that he wasn't fooling Vivian. She probably had a pretty good idea what was going on in his home life. 

After a short pause, Vivian answered .

"Okay, I'll put the file on your desk and call as soon as I have more information. Bye."

"So, are you still taking the girls to school?" 

Maria asked as soon as he got off the phone. 

"Sure" 

He bit back the rest of the sentence. It had been like that between them for weeks. It had started the morning after the shooting in the bookstore, when he'd come home, mentally and physically exhausted. Maria had been quick to put two and two together. She had seen on the news that he had traded himself in as a hostage. For her that had been the ultimate proof that his job would always be first and his family second. He couldn't really blame her. The sad truth was that he had been willing to risk his life for his ex-mistress. He'd have to live with that as well. But there was no way he could even try to make Maria understand. In fact he himself didn't understand it. Any attempt to explain would both lead them to the conclusion that whatever had once been between them was now gone. Jack knew that and he was certain that Maria knew as well. But neither of them dared to voice the failure of there marriage and so the tension seemed to become more unbearable every day.

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Samantha Spade's Apartment, New York City

November 21, 2003

7.35 a.m.

It was her first day back in the field after the shooting. She had been on desk duty for over a month and couldn't wait to get out again. When Vivian had called her early this morning, she had felt a rush of excitement that she had missed while having been confined to the office. But still, somehow, it had taken her longer than usual to get ready for work. Maybe because she had been distracted, by an odd nervous feeling. The traffic had been heavy and she was running a bit late. She'd told Vivian that she'd met her at the house of their latest victim, a mother and her three children. The scene that greeted her was not what she had expected. The street was filled with buzzing activity; a fire truck was parked directly in front of the building, as were several police cars. There was a faint hint of smoke in the air. She got out of the car scanning the people hurrying around the scene until she spotted familiar faces.

Vivian and Danny were standing on the sidewalk, talking to a police officer. She walked up to them. Both of them were wearing grim expressions. 

"Where're Jack and Martin?"

"Jack's meeting us at the office; Martin is doing background on her." Vivian spoke fast. Samantha was confused, this was going too fast.

"Back off. Who's missing?"

"Diane Durkin. Twenty-seven years old, unemployed, mother of three children, father unknown, no drivers licence. She has been living in the building for about fours years. Last night, around midnight a neighbour saw smoke coming out from under her door. He called the firemen. They bust in and found her three children inside. Two of them died in the fire, the oldest has been taken to the hospital. No sign of Diane or her body. The police is trying to contact her parents."

"Are they sure it didn't just burn?"

"Positive. The fire wasn't intense enough to completely destroy a body. The kids died from smoke inhalation. NYPD asked around, but no one has seen Diane recently."

"I see. Do we know anything else yet?"

"The preliminary cause of the fire is arson, but the report is still pending. One of the children might have accidentally set the fire. But someone from the fire brigade is going to met us upstairs and tell us more." Danny joined the conversation.

Samantha understood now their grim faces. A case starting off with two bodies, especially children, was going to be emotionally hard. But in spite of the appalling details, Samantha was still wondering why they had been assigned the case. From what she heard it was not a typical missing person's case.

"Why are we on the case? I mean from what you've just told me, it looks more like a case of parental neglect or arson. Why does NYPD think that the mother has gone missing and didn't just spend the night on town, leaving her kids alone?" The possibility although sickening was certainly with the real of the possible. They had all seen cases like that.

"I don't know. They're probably so stuck in their case overload that someone decided to do them a favour and dump the case on us." Vivian theorized.

"So we're going take a look and hope that the mother will turn up after a night on the town. Then it's definitely not our case." Danny said grinning cynically. 

"Let's go." But I doubt there is an elevator." He shot Samantha a look.

"I'm probably in better shape then you are" She replied wit mock indignation as they entered the building.

Two minutes later, she saw the point that Danny was having. Her left legs was not happy about the morning work-out. She was no longer hobbling around, but still, her legs was hardly up to such strenuous activities. She made a mental note to start exercising slowly again. They had climbed two stories already and Vivian and Danny had made no move to stop their ascent.

"How many more?" Samantha asked, trying not to sound like she was out of breath already. Her leg was aching more with every step. Danny turned around to her. He no doubts saw the strain on her face.

"The apartment is on the fourth floor. We're half-way there already." He answered and slowed down, while Vivian was still getting ahead of them.

It was clear that no one paid rent for the hallways. There were a cross between dumpster and storage space. That combined with the general decay of the building gave a dire impression. The smell of cold smoke intensified with every floor the climbed up. Once the reached the fourth floor, it was immediately clear that this was were the fire had been. The carpet in the hallway was soaked with dirty water. The smell of smoke was biting, and through the opened window icy air had made for a chilling temperature in the hallway. The scene was creepy, different from what they usually. Scenes of such destruction were rather rare in their cases. The cases with overt signs of struggle and violence where a person had last been seen were rather rare. The fire-fighters seemed to have finished their task, because as they entered what had been the apartment of Diane Durkin, there was no one else in sight. Danny walked across the hallway, looking for Vivian who had already gotten to the fourth floor well ahead of him and Samantha. He found her standing in the kitchen with a man in fire fighter uniform.

They were introduced. He was Mark Davis, an arson specialist. He started explaining the origins of the various kinds of fire damage around them.

"From what I can tell you the fire originated here in this room. Probably the curtains were the first to burn. Might have been set on fire, but I'd have to take a much closer look at the lab to tell you for sure. No sign of accelerant. We'd sniff dogs up here, but found nothing. It would have been pretty surprising if they had found anything, the fire spread far too slowly for an accelerant."

"But if no accelerant was used, then how did the fire spread all over the room? Vivian asked, looking around at the almost totally burned room.

"Most curtains will light up simply be holding a candle too close to them." He explained. "The burning curtains probably fell down, setting the table on fire. From what is left of it, you can see that the table had a veneer. Now in cheap table those are mostly synthetic veneers glued to the table. Both the veneer and the glue would have caught fire instantly when the burning curtain fell on the table. From there the fire spread to the carpet and the rest of the room. Once it was on the floor, there was hardly any way to stop it. Before that an adult could probably have put it out. And then spread out into the bedroom. We found two bodies in the bedroom. The ME will be the one who can tell you for sure, but going by experience, they were probably killed by the smoke before the fire ever left the kitchen. The boy was passed out next to the door when we found him. He was trying to get away from the fire, but the smoke got top him too."

"Why didn't he run out of the apartment?"

He probably passed out before he got the chance. The fire-man shrugged.

Samantha walked over to the door. The rescue team had made a violent entry and the cheap, thin wooded door had probably given way to their efforts easily. But amidst the splintered wood, Samantha found what she had been looking for. The door had been looked at the time of the fire. There was a key stuck in the lock on what used to have been the door's inside. Samantha took out a napkin and tried to get the key out of the lock. It first she just pulled gentle, when it didn't yield, she pulled more firmly, but it didn't budge. 

"Come and have a look at this. Someone jammed a key into the look. The door is locked, so it looks like someone was trying to get it open.

"Diane locks the door when she leaves, the kids try to get out, but have the wrong key."

No one spoke, as the implications sunk in. Intentionally or not, Diane Durkin was most likely responsible for the deaths of two of her children.

"I'm calling forensics; they need to take a closer look at the door." Danny pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his coat. 

While he was talking, Samantha and Vivian went on to examine the remainder of the apartment. The kitchen and bedroom were the only rooms which have sustained fire damage and only the kitchen was largely charred. The short corridor, the second bedroom and the bathroom had remained untouched. The intact part of the apartment told a story of neglect. The corridor was littered with trash, a few dirty dished were lying on the floor in pieces. It was hard to tell how much disturbance had been caused by the firemen and how much had been present already. Vivian seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Even if there was a struggle, it will be next to impossible to find any evidence of it."

"Are you thinking that someone kidnapped Diane?"

"Not necessarily kidnapped. An argument turned ugly, she storms out, or may be is injured or killed in a fight. So far nobody we talked to has mentioned a boyfriend, but the kids have to have a father somewhere."

"True. We should talk to the fire-fighters who were first at the scene, maybe they recall seeing something that might help us."

"I'll take care of that. They should still be down by the truck." Danny headed outside. Truth be told, he needed to get out. He needed fresh air. It wasn't just the smoke filled air in the apartment. It wasn't the charred furniture. What got to him was the atmosphere of dereliction and neglect. 

Samantha and Vivian decided to team off, to take a closer look at the rest of the apartment. The fire had not caused so severe damage that all clues had been obliterated.

Samantha wandered over to the mother's bedroom. It had been furthest away from the fire and had not been affected by the flames, aside from scorch marks on the door. It must have been closed during the fire. It was open now, but that had probably been the rescue workers. The room was orderly. The bed was made, a small desk was cleared. She opened the closet. A full set of clothes, a jacket, two pairs of shows, underwear, an empty gym bag. No evidence of a planned departure. There was one empty hanger in the closet, but that told her nothing. She took a closer look at the clothes. For a woman who was supposedly unemployed her wardrobe was pretty good. Not exactly designer clothes, but it didn't look like Oxfam either.

The nightstand. A bible, worn, someone had been reading it regularly. Aspirin. No condoms, or other contraceptives. An envelope. She opened it. $5000. A lost of cash for an unemployed single mother. She went check out the bathroom. toothbrushes. No indication that a man had been staying regularly.

Samantha had just been going back to check on Vivian when she ran into Danny in the apartment's corridor.

"Did you learn anything new?"

"Not really. They just confirmed what we already knew. But they said that it was already a mess here." Danny pointed to the mounds of soaked and charred items in the corridor. "But I met the ME. She says she want to talk to us. It's urgent. She didn't say why, Figured, I'd get you and Viv."

Vivian had heard them talking and came out of the kitchen.

"Nothing. And I mean nothing. The cupboards and the fridge were all empty. Not even dishes in the kitchen."

"Could they have been destroyed in the fire?"

"The top-row cupboards were never touched by fire. They were empty before the fire started."

"That's strange. Robbery?" Danny theorized.

"No. Several grand in the nightstand. Easy to find. Beside, no signs of violent entry."

They left the apartment. 

Outside, in the hallway, a woman in her thirties was already waiting for them. She introduced herself us Dr. Summer, the medical examiner assigned to the death of the two children.

"You wanted to talk to us." Danny restated the obvious.

"Yes." Dr. Sommer paused, she seemed oddly nervous for a professional her age. "I'm going to send you my report as soon as possible but there is a detail that I thought you should know as soon as possible.

"What is it?" Vivian asked impatiently.

"The little girl has certainly been dead for several days before the fire. The body was only partially burned, but the advanced decomposition is clearly visible without an exam. "

"Cause of death?"

"No obvious wounds. Could have been smothered, poisoned. What about the second body." Dr. Sommer shrugged sadly.

"Hard to tell. It was far more damaged by the fire, but from the lack of flesh contraction, he was dead by the time the flames reached him, It might have been from smoke inhalation, but there are some signs that point an earlier time of death as well. But I'll have to do a post-mortem exam to be sure."

"Thank you for giving us this information so early on." Vivian finally said, breaking a stunned silence. 

Dr. Sommer said nothing and quickly left. Vivian got out her cell phone as soon as the ME was out of sight. Samantha was surprised to hear her request and APB be put out for Diane Durkin.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Samantha questioned. " I don't think we have the grounds established to treat her as a fugitive. For now, she's just missing." She hadn't intended it, but she came off sounding somewhat aggressive, she realized.

"I'm going to talk to the DA and I'm sure he'll issue a warrant. We have nothing on the arson angle, but it should be enough for child endangerment at the very least. " Vivian was defensive.

"We don't even have an official report confirming that the fire was not the cause of death." Danny offered rather weakly, not eager to get into an argument.

Vivian ignored him and walked out of the apartment. Danny and Samantha shared a silent look then followed her downstairs.

The fresh air did her well after having been trapped in the smell of burnt wood, smouldered plastic and charred flesh for what seemed like hours. It would take ages to get the smell out of her coat. Samantha craved a shower more than anything at the moment. Not just to get rid of the awful smell, she needed the feeling to be able to wash away 

After the fire truck and police cars had left and most of the neighbours had gone back to their lives a measure of false calm had settled over the street. Samantha could feel the adrenaline rush wearing off. As morbid as it was, this was part of what she had missed about field work. She certainly didn't enjoy coming face to face with the cruelties of humanity on a daily basis, but it was part of her job and over the years had ingrained itself in the way she was thinking. Here in the field, they had actually do something. They might have just saved three lives. That would not have happened from behind her desk. She sat down on the low wall surrounding the bath towel sized front lawn. Her leg was hurting again. Not badly, but the dull ache that ad never truly left her since the shooting was making its presence known again. The running up and down the staircase couldn't have helped. 

"Are you okay?" Danny asked, having seen her easing herself down on the wall.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just not used to all that exercise anymore." She faked a smile.

Danny looked away. Following his gaze, she saw Vivian leaning against the wall a few meters away. She had never seen Vivian loose it, She kept her head even if everyone else came close the falling apart. She seemed to go about her work detached and professional, just the way thy were supposed to. But the expression she wore right now, spoke of anything but detachment. Samantha wasn't sure how to read it. Anger, sadness, maybe frustration. She knew that Vivian was a mother, but in the many cases they had worked they had dealt with numerous cruelties against children, abuse, neglect, murder. And not once had Vivian seemed anything but cool and professional. But this here was different. Suddenly, she spotted Jack walking up to Vivian. The two were talking, it did nit look too good. Jack seemed stressed out, but at was hard to really tell from the distance. A few moments later, she could tell for sure, as he came over to her.

"Samantha, how are you?" his voice was concerned.

"I'm fine." She smiled to underline her point. It didn't work.

"It's only been a month. This is a high pressure case, so if you feel …" Jack didn't know how to phrase his concern without coming across as overprotective in Samantha's eyes. He had seen how shaken Vivian and Danny seemed, he didn't want Samantha pushing herself to hard on this case. And he already knew from Danny that she was physically far from in shape for field work.

"I can handle this." She snapped at him. Before he had a chance to respond, she'd walked away. His day was getting better and better, he grimly thought. First Maria, then Samantha and on top of it all a gruesome case that was jarring on their nerves. This wasn't going to be easy.

He would have rather send Samantha over to the hospital, but she would just take this is another indication that he doubted her competence. Maybe it was true, he just didn't feel she was ready and he didn't want to send her out in the field if he wasn't a hundred percent sure. It was his job as their supervisor. But the fact that it was Samantha didn't make this any easier for him. It was impossible to separate private and professional impressions of her. The line that was supposed to separate them was blurry at best, sometimes it seemed not to exists at all. But those times were past. There was nothing personal going on between them, but somehow his feeling had yet to pick up on that notion. He sighed before he went to assemble his team again.

"Vivian, I want you to go over to the hospital and see what you can find out about the boy. We're going to look at scene again, NYPD is canvassing the neighbourhood. Our first priority is to pinpoint the timeline. We can work from that then."

"The press is going to be all over this," Danny commented.

"Exactly. We have to keep this as quite as possible, at least unlike know whether we are dealing with a missing person case or with a fugitive." Jack shot Vivian a look.


	3. 2

Disclaimer, see Chapter 1

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Club Aragon, New York City

November 21, 2.15 p.m.

The search through the remnants of Diane Durkin's apartment had been a dreary task dragging on through the entire morning. Anything was a welcome change now. The search had not revealed anything new. They had found a matchbook from a cheap downtown night club. That was where Samantha and Danny were right now, looking for someone to answer their questions.

Now that it was daytime the empty dance-floor seemed strangely out of place. The club was not fancy. Dance-floor and bar, no elaborate decoration. Now, that there were no patrons, it appeared almost abandoned. Only the lingering smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke indicated that the floor would be crowded in twelve hours time. An employee cleaning the floor had pointed them to a man behind the bar when they had asked to see the manager. Danny and Samantha identified themselves.

"Are you the manager of this club?" Danny asked the young man behind the bar counter.

"I'm Will Wright, the Assistant manager. The old man never shows his face around here. What do you want?"

"We need to talk to a few of your employees. We need to know whether any of them have seen this woman before." Danny handed him a photograph of Diane. Will studied the picture than handed it back with a shrug. 

"I don't recognize her. But I'm not here very often. But feel free to go around and ask. We know our regulars."

The first two employees couldn't tell them anything, but then they got luck. Two woman and the bouncer recalled having seen Diane Durkin.

__

Mercy Hospital, New York City

November 21, 2.30 p.m.

Vivian had just talked to the doctor in charge of treating Diane Durkin's son. Her mood had hit a dangerous low. The doctor had confirmed what Dr. Sommer had already suspected at the scene. The children had evidently been neglected, most probably looked inside the apartment for days. She was studying the map on the wall to find her way to the nearest stairwell, when martin came around the corner. He had been supposed to met her at the hospital half an hour ago. When he had not shown up, she had gone ahead on her own. 

"Sorry, I'm late. I got stuck in traffic." he apologized.

"It's okay."

After getting lost twice in the maze of grey, anonymous corridors, they had finally found the right room. They knocked but got no answer, so they entered.

Mrs Durkin, a woman of maybe fifty-five years, had been crying. Now she was sitting at the bedside of her grandson like a statue. She didn't react when they entered the room. 

"Mrs Ellen Durkin, we're with the FBI. We need to talk to you about your daughter Diane." It was only by the mention of Diane's name that she even turned to acknowledge their presence.

"Do you know where she is?"

"No, but we're trying to find out what happened. Why don't why sit down over there. Vivian stirred her towards the seating area."

"Something must have happened to her, she would never have left her children alone. She had many problems, but she wouldn't. They were the one thing she cares about. It's going to kill her."

"We're not sure whether your daughter left on her own will. Did she ever leave her kids alone for an evening?"

"Yes. Occasionally. She couldn't afford a baby-sitter. But she always came back before the next morning. She told me that."

"You knew that she was leaving her children alone?" Vivian sounded downright aggressive.

"What could I do? It has hard for her being alone with the kids all day. I kept telling her that she needed to go out more. She didn't have any friends."

Vivian shot Martin a look. Martin wasn't sure how to react. He was trying hard not to let the case get to him and Vivian wasn't helping his efforts.

"When was the last time you saw Diane?"

"About two weeks ago?"

"She came by the house with the kids. She stayed for lunch, we took them to the playground." She sobbed.

"How did she seem? Depressed, scared? Did anyone threaten her?"

"No, no, she was happy. She said she'd finally found work."

"What was she doing?"

"She's a cashier at some drug store. I was so happy for her. She was finally doing better. She wouldn't walk away from that now, she's been working so hard for this." Vivian shot Martin a look. Diane Durkin has certainly not been working as a cashier. She had been in a far more profitable business.

When you didn't hear from her in two weeks didn't you worry?

"I called her, but her phone had been disconnected again. She sometimes forgets to pay the bills." Ellen shrugged.

"And you didn't drive over, to make sure she was okay?" Vivian's tone made the accusation obvious.

"No. I wish I would have. But my husband said we should interfere less with her and she was doing fine. How could we know that something was wrong?" Ellen was either genuinely surprised or was acting her part very well. Martin wasn't sure what to think of her. Vivian on the other hand had made up her mind.She shook her head and turned away. Martin decided to change the topic seeing as they were getting no where.

"Does Diane have any friends. Maybe a boyfriend?"

"No, she wanted to get her life back together again, she said. That was when she came over two weeks ago. I believed her. She was so much better looking. No longer those clothes she used to wear. She had all nice and new things. I was proud of her. She had really changed."

"Do you know whether she still have any contact with her ex-husband?"

"No, she wouldn't. Not after what he's done to her. It took her so long to get away from him. When did you last see him?"

"I don't know. He didn't want to her to come and see us when they were still together. I only met him once or twice. He was not good for her and my husband didn't tolerate him in our house."

FBI Missing Persons Unit, Conference room, New York City

November 21, 4 p.m.

Vivian was explaining what she had learned at the hospital this morning.

"The doctors are pretty sure that the boy, Ron Durkin, will make it. It will be some time until he can talk to us, if he can tell us anything at all. According to the medical report, he was suffering from acute smoke inhalation when he was admitting during the night. But he was severely dehydrated and mal-nourished as well. He probably hasn't eaten for days. There were no signs of physical or sexual abuse other than that. "

"Yes, the preliminary autopsied reports on the other two children. Both were dead before the fire. The estimate is around three days before the fire. None of them had injuries. Probable cause of death is dehydration. But the tox screen is still pending, so poison can't be ruled out. We'll get the report tomorrow morning."

The was a grim silence. No child should have to suffer like that. They were either faced with an incredible tragedy or with terrible neglect and abuse.

"Here is what we have. Going by the phone records and what neighbours have told us and the police, we have a rough idea of what might have happened the day Diane disappeared."

"That's good. The sooner we get the timeline, the sooner we can focus our search. Let's hear what you have." Jack said.

"On November 14 at 7.15 p.m. Diane ordered a cab to her apartment. We have the phone records and the Taxi company gave us the name of the driver, NYPD is going to bring him in. Neighbours saw her get into the cab, she was dressed to go out. That was around 8 p.m. that night. Around 8.30 p.m., she got to the club Aragon. The bouncer and several employees confirmed that she is a regular, coming at least three time per week. She always arrive alone, but leaves usually in company. Not with the same guy, but we got descriptions of two men, she met on a regular basis. On the night in question, she was seen drinking and arguing with one of them. The description closely fits her ex-husband Tom Dyson. We haven't found him yet, but there is an APB out for him already because of several drugs related charges. Both of them were drinking and arguing until about 11 p.m. when they left together. They seemed to have set aside their differences as the waitress described it. That was the last time anyone has seen her. We haven't found any witnesses that saw her in the parking lot or elsewhere later that night. We don't know whether she really met with her ex-husband, but whoever she met at that club is our first suspect." Samantha explained.

"I pulled the record on Tom Dyson. He has no known address and might be homeless. He has last been picked up by the police about 3 month ago during a drug bust. He failed to appear for his court date last week." Martin read from his notes.

"Does he have a car?" Danny asked.

"No." 

"So suppose he did kill her after leaving the club. Then how did he do it? We would have found evidence in the parking lot, And even if he didn't do it somewhere else, then he'd sill have to get rid of the body which is difficult without a car." Vivian laid out a theory.

"He has no credit cards. But although he has no driver's licence, he has been picked up for driving stolen cars twice during the eighties. No conviction ever came of it. The police could not prove that it was him who actually stole the cars. "All he got was a fine. But at least, it means that he could not have rented a car. He must have left the club some other way. Innocent or not, he must have gotten away somehow. It is a forty minute walk to the next bus station, so it's not too likely that he actually walked. But he could still have been picked up by a friend or accomplice." 

"If he his innocent thane someone must have picked Diana up after she left the club."

"There is a payphone near the parking lot. Maybe we ran a trace on all calls places around 11 p.m, that night. Maybe she called a cab or a friend that we don't know of It's along shit but maybe a familiar names pop up."

"I'm on it." Vivian said.

"It's Friday. Danny and Sam, you go back to the cub and mingle a bit tonight. We still haven't found out where she got all that cash. If there are drugs and prostitution going on I want you to find out."

"How Danny gets the fun stuff?" Martin asked in mock indignation.

"You can check with vice. It looks like Diane might have been soliciting for prostitution at the club. That would explain the different men she has been seen with and the money in her apartment. We shouldn't narrow our focus on the ex-husband just yet. She could have met with a client either at the club or later that night. After your done at vice, check out other tax companies in town, maybe she took another can somewhere that night. If there is a crime scene, then we need to find out where it is."

"For the moment we don't even know whether there has been a crime, Vivian said. And the apartment tells a different story. It doesn't look like she had just left for a night on the town."

"Why, what else did you find? Samantha asked, as she could not recall having seen anything inside that would have indicated premeditated departure." 

"The phone was deliberately unplugged, the door was locked from the outside, there was no key inside, Diane's wallet and purse are gone."

"It could be either way. She probably wanted to make sure that her kids didn't use the phone while she was gone. I had a look at her phone records. It sees like she wasn't too interested in paying the bills. Her access was cut off three time in the last six months because she failed to keep up the payments. The last outgoing phone call was made ten days ago to her parents in Queens. She called them pretty regularly, three or four times per week. Hardly any other calls in the last six months. She called the building manager once, and there were several calls to a cell phone. The last was the day she was seen last.

If she has parents' why didn't they notice that she was gone. After all they seemed to be pretty close to each other. Sam pointed out.

"We need to find out. We need to get both of them here. Maybe that will be enough to get them to tell us the truth. I'm sure they know more than they let on about their daughter's life."

"What about the kids father? He would be a suspect."

"We don't know. He isn't on the birth certificate. From what she found in her apartment, it doesn't look like she was living with a man. NYPD is still talking to the tenants, but I doubt they'll find anything. Of no one noticed that three children were looked up alone in in apartment for eight days, I doubt anyone would have noticed her. Last year, Lydia was picked up by police wandering around Central park. Her blood tests came back negative for drugs. Social services investigated her for child neglect, and she was ordered to go to family therapy. No mention of the children's father in the file. It doesn't seem like he had any dealings with them."

"We've got the address of her therapist. Danny and I will talk to him. It's too early to go back to the club anyways."

"I doubt he'll tell us anything. Doctor patient privilege, the usual story." Danny voiced concern.

"It's worth a try", Jack looked around the table.

"Samantha, in the mean time, dig deeper into Diane's background. Everything, previous residence, credit history. Check out her old drug buddies."

"Sure." Samantha was disappointed. It was her first day back and she was already confidence to the desk again.

__

Social Services New York City Office, New York City

November 21, 5 p.m.

"Here you go Diane Durkin's file". The clerk handed him the file, after having rummage though filing cabinets for a good fifteen minutes. Jack was tired and irritated but was working hard not to show it. The impossibility the get a feeling for what he was dealing with was getting to him. Had Diane fallen victim to a client when she had been selling herself to support her family and her children had just been victims of the tragedy? Had a several depressed and disturbed woman simply abandoned her family because she couldn't handle it anymore? Had a fun loving young mother whose children were in the way simply left with a nigh-stand acquaintance? All the clues they had found failed to clearly indicate any of those possibilities and every witness painted a completely different picture of Diane. It seemed like no one had know her, not even her mother with whom she had had the most contact.

Maybe the social services file would give them a more objective look at the case. It was a lot of material that was for sure. The file was almost an inch thick. Apparently Diane had been regular at social services. But it seemed also apparent they hadn't been able to help her much in the end. 

"Did you deal with her personally?" Jack asked the clerk.

"No, that would be her social worker. Trish Collins. I just handle the files."

"Where you can find Trish Collins?" Jack patience was wearing thin.

"Down the corridor to your left. She should be in right now." 

"Thank you. "

Indeed Trish Collins was in. 

"Mrs Collins?" Danny asked the woman sitting behind the desk in the small office cluttered with files and piles of paper. 

"Yes. What can I do for you?" She seemed quite surprised by their appearance, certainly they did not look her usual clientele.

They showed her their badges. 

"I'm Agent Malone, this is Agent Fitzgerald. We're here to investigate the disappearance of a woman you worked with, Diane Durkin." Jack explained their presence.

"Ahh. I see, But I'm sorry that I cannot discuss details of my sessions with Ms Durkin."

Jack silently handed her the court order to access to Diane Durkin's records.

"Oh. Very well. What do you want to know?" She didn't show any upset about being forced to cooperate with the authorities. In fact, if anything, she sounded relived.

"Anything you can tell us. We're trying to get an impression of Ms Durkin's situation and personality."

"I've worked with her on and off over the last six years. She's one of my regulars here. I first was assigned to her case when she was pregnant with her first child six years ago. As I recall her parents had taken her to social services because they suspected she was taking drugs. I recall that they were rather alarmist, If I recall correctly. I was working a drug prevention programme at the time. She joined our support group for a few weeks but dropped out when she was twenty-one after about a month. There was no way to force her to attend as she has never been convicted of any drug offence." she gave a sad smile.

"Her father turned her in to the police after a while, because she was continuing to use drugs during her pregnancy. It was her first offence, she went into rehab and seemingly recovered. She has been picked up a couple of times for drugs offences and prostitution over the last few years. She took a downward turn when she got married soon after having her first child. She moved out of her parents' house and started drifting. She was starting to neglect herself and got more into drugs. I didn't see her again for quite a while. What has happened to her now?" the concern in her voice was genuine.

"There has been a fire in her apartment, she's disappeared. We believe that she's abandoned her children at home over a week before the fire."

"Oh my God. I never thought it would come to that."

"Come to what?"

"She's been depressed, overwhelmed, the last time I saw her. She felt like she couldn't cope with three kids on her own. Her parents' tried to help but she wouldn't let them. Classic case. She didn't want to see that she couldn't handle out. But I never thought she would ever leave her children. I had the impression that they were who prevented her from giving up completely."

"You knew she was suicidal and did nothing?"

You have any idea how difficult it is to get an adult committed against their will. She never made a suicide attempts. She was hospitalised twice with a drug overdose, but those were noted as regular ODs. She shrugged.

"But they weren't?"

"I don't think so. She was depressed and overworked. She could hardly take care of herself, let alone of her children. She felt trapped in her marriage, but unable to get out because she depended on her husband for drugs. Eventually she worked up the courage to report him. He went to jail and she seemed to improve. That's always why the court ruled in her favour when her parent's challenged her for custody of her children. She lost custody of her children sometime last year, but got it back after undergoing drug therapy. There were no grounds on which to challenge to courts ruling,"

"How had custody of her children while she was in therapy?"

Her parents took care of them. They even wanted to get permanent custody of them, but they lost in court."

"When was that?"

"May last year." She looked it up on her screen.

"Anything since then?"

"No. She didn't have any contact with us after that. She suddenly stopped coming to the support groups. But she seemed much better the last few times I saw her. She seemed clean, she was taking care of herself."

"Did she ever mention a new lover maybe? Or anything to explain it?"

"No. I did ask her, but she just said that things were going fine at the moment. She really seemed up and happy. Are you sure that she's just left her children?" Trish Collins was upset, it was clear that over the years, on some level she had bonded with Diane Durkin.

"We don't know yet. Did she have a job?" Danny asked.

"No, nothing steady." Trish Collins paused, looking at Danny and Jack. "Agent Malone. It's not our fault. There is only so much we can do, if people don't want to accept help then there is no way of stopping them. I hope you find Diane."

__

FBI Missing Persons Unit, New York City

November 21, 3.20 p.m.

"Hey Samantha. I think I've got something there." Martin called out to Samantha. There was another interesting call. At 11.50 p.m. the night that Diane disappeared, someone called 911 from the payphone in the parking lot. I request the transcript. It wasn't Diane, but someone reported that his car had been stolen from the club Aragon parking lot between 10 p.m. and 11.30 p.m."

"Okay, but what does that have to do with the case?" Samantha didn't see any connection to the missing woman.

"Her ex-husband whom we know had a fight with her, has a prior record fro car theft and we have established that he would need to have a car to get away. So what if he is the car thief."

"That is a little far fetched, don't you think? Maybe he just left the same way he got to the club in the first place. Besides, there are plenty of people around the city how know how to steal a car."

"But they wouldn't steal this car. It's a VW van, made 1990. No pro would grab it and it's nowhere near fast enough for a joyride."

"I see. Maybe we should look into it."

"Already took care of it. NYPD will notify us when anything new comes up in the case. How are you getting on?"

"I'm getting nowhere." Samantha sighed. "We gave out word to the news, they are running Diane's picture now. But so far no hits. Other than that, nothing. For the last year, she hardly seems to have existed. Still I can't believe that nobody missed her when she was gone for an entire week. I mean the people living on her floor must have known that she has children, why did nobody wonder when they suddenly weren't around anymore? That's what I don't get." 

__

FBI New York Office, New York City

November 21, 9.45 p.m.

It was always hard to out aside the work for the day, especially when they had made little progress. They had spent most of the day cutting through red tape and reading their way through court records and social service files. Necessary work, but it had not really gotten them closer to unravelling the mystery. They were still in the dark as to what kind of situation they were dealing with. Normally, he developed a feeling for it, but this time, it wasn't that easy. Everyone had painted a different picture of Diane: a drug addict, a struggling single mom, a disturbed, depressed woman, an irresponsible young woman you preferred going clubbing to looking after her children. Who was Diane Dyson really? To him as a father to concept of abandoning one's own children like that seemed preposterous, but his work had taught him that there was no limit to the cruelties that people would inflict on one another. One of the worst kinds of cruelties could be difference. In this case indifference had killed two children. What would have been going on in the mind of a mother who did something like that? Drugs, the dark despair of mental illness, or foul play. Maybe she had intended to come back home that night, but had met someone who had changed her plans.

He reminded himself that he was now off work. Time to leave the case behind in the office building. He had just turned his thoughts toward the upcoming evening when his eye caught a white object under his Upon closer inspection he saw that it was a folded piece of white paper. He come closer, immediately on alert. His hand reached for his gun without him even thinking about it. This was a secure parking garage. He instinctively looked around, but he couldn't see anyone. He pulled out handkerchief to pick up the folded piece of paper. He unfolded it. 

*Be careful where you're going. You don't want to put your agents in danger.*

That was all. Printed in black ink. Assuming that this was related to their current case and he couldn't see any other possibility, there must be something they were missing. No one had seemingly cared about Diane being missing, but still they must have stepped on someone's toes enough to provoke such a reaction, The threat was generic and blank, but the fact that someone had gotten into the parking garage to put it there did something to accredit the source danger. He turned, taking the letter back up the stairs to the forensic lab. He doubted that there would be anything on the letter, but it was worth a shot.

__

Parking lot of Club Aragon, New York City

November 22, 1.30 a.m.

The fresh air was a relief. It was cold, but at least she had finally gotten away from the overcrowded room. They had spend almost three hours at the club and had still failed top produce any kind of result that would advance their investigation.

"Nothing. This morning she told us that Diane was at the club every week, today nobody wants to have ever seen her. I'm telling you, somebody wants us off this club." Samantha complained, venting her frustration about the wasted night.

"Or, if it's not a conspiracy to take over America, maybe the owner just wants to keep himself out of the headlines. The club has been in rouble before for drugs and admitting underage patrons. Besides, from the revenue records, it's obvious that business has been slumping lately. He probably told his employees to say nothing. Besides we already have the boyfriend admitting to leaving the bar with her." Danny grinned as they walked towards their car. "If it was the boyfriend, we can't prove anything. No testimony, no evidence, no witnesses." There was frustration in his voice. Samantha shared the sentiment. What had looked like their most promising lead in a fairly cold case, had turned into a disappointment. Suddenly she noticed that Danny had stopped. He was standing a few meter behind her and was looking round the dark parking lot, as if he was searching for something. He noticed that she was about to call out to him when he jogged over to the car.

"Everything all right?"

"Yeah."

Samantha had the impression that this wasn't exactly true, Danny must have thought he'd seen something, but she quickly forgot the idea when she got into to car. She started the engine and pulled out to the lot unto the street. Traffic was still busy, although most people were either at home or still out clubbing. Danny kept looking into the rear-view mirror. As they stopped at a traffic light, she decided the ask him:

" Something wrong. You keep checking out the other cars?"

"I think the black van there is following us. It pulled into the club parking lot just after us. When we walked back to the car, I think I saw a guy sitting in the car. Then they left right after us and have been behind us ever since."

"Did you get a look at the licence plate?"

"Yes. I'll check it out tomorrow at the office just to be on the safe side. It might be nothing, but if someone is tailing us, I want to know who it is and why they are doing it."

~~~

Samantha was walking back home after having parked her car in a garage a few blocks away from her apartment building. The pavement was wet, the lights from passing cars reflected eerily off it. It wasn't raining, but the smell still hung in the air. It was unseasonably warm considering that it was already night and it was late November. It had been a long day, dragging from seven in the morning to way past midnight. The case had left little room for reflection. In the crucial early phase of a case, when there was still every possibility open, it was important to act fast. Objectively viewed, it had gone quite well. Even though the case was already a week old, they had quickly established a timeline. At least the believed that they had. They were still lacking any evidence to support their theory. And their second visit to the club had only created more confusion. The sudden denial of the employees regarding Diane Durkin was puzzling. 

This was a difficult case. Cruelty and thoughtlessness here exceeded by far the usual. And on top of it, any case involving children was harder to handle, even for a seasoned professional. Jack knew that, Vivian knew that, even Martin probably knew that. She knew, too and she was quite confident that she could handle this case. But it would take some time until she fully found her place within the team again. Samantha let out a sigh. It wasn't going to be easy. Eventually there would be a situation that would bring her face the face with her demons. She would have to use her gun, to protect herself and to protect others. It was part of her job. The only part that she was not sure she could deal with at the moment. The problem was that there was no way of telling when such a situation would arise. It might as well happen tomorrow. She would not be prepared for it. If the worst happened she could put her life and those of others in jeopardy. The fact that today had gone well, had done a bit to strengthen her confidence. She recalled how apprehensive and nervous she had felt before leaving for work this morning. Her fears had been unfounded. Maybe time would be enough to heal the wounds. She was willing to put her hopes on that, even though she knew that it was dangerous.


	4. 3

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Disclaimer and notes: see Chapter 1

Samantha Spade's apartment, New York City

November 22, 5.15 a.m.

The phone was ringing relentlessly, forcing her to open eyes and reach for the receiver. She couldn't't have been asleep for more than half an hour, she thought as she answered the phone.

"Hi, it's Danny. Sorry to wake you so early. Jack just called. NYPD has found a body, they think it's Diane. They're excepting us at the scene." Danny sounded as bright awake and cheerful as ever. She was wondering how he did that, seeing that he had not gotten any more sleep than she had.

"Yeah. Give me the address and I'll meet you there." Samantha answered groggily, her brain not quite following the conversation yet. Danny gave her the address and she jotted it down on the notepad she always kept beside her phone. After Danny had hung up, she just sat on her bedside. She glanced at her watch. 5.20 a.m. she had gotten several hours of sleep, yet it had felt like only minutes. Still feeling foggy, she got up and started to get ready for work. 

After a cup of coffee and almost an hours drive her head had cleared somewhat. She was still tired, but felt considerably more alert now. The body had been found outside the city. When she had looked up the address on the map, she had realized that it would take at least 45 minutes to drive out there, probably more depending on how heavy traffic in the city was.

She cold already see that she had found the right spot when she saw several police cars parked at both sides of the small road. She parked behind one of the police cars and climbed out. 

"Hello, I'm Detective Dawson. I'm with NYPD. We spoke on the phone?"

"Yes, I'm Agent Taylor, this is Agent Spade. We've been investigating the disappearance of a woman named Diane Durkin."

"When we checked the contents of the purse found a few feet from the body we found a library card in the name of Diane Durkin. That's when we called you."

"Who found the body?"

"Young couple. They were having fun inside their car parked up the road. They decided to go for a romantic morning walk, that's when they stumbled over the body. They are standing over there." the detective pointed to two shaken looking figures, talking a another officer. " But I doubt you'll get anything out of them. They're both pretty stoned. At least they were lucid enough to dial 911."

"Where exactly was the body found?"

"Down there in the woods. Maybe 10 meter away from the road. It could have gone undetected for months, maybe even years. It certainly wouldn't have been found before spring."

Danny and Samantha looked in the direction that the detective had indicated.

The spot in the woods was illuminated by strong light used by the crime scene technicians. They followed Detective Dawson. Although the spot certainly wasn't far away from the street, it was indeed well camouflaged. The body was lying in a small ditch, loosely covered with branches. The medical examiner was already inspecting the body, dictating notes while doing so. Danny recognized her as the same woman who had been working on the earlier scene in Diane's apartment. She turned to them. 

"Good morning Agents. We've met before."

"Good morning, Doctor. What do you have for us?"

"As always not that much without a post mortem exam. What I can tell you is that whoever this woman was, she had been dead for a few days. Rough estimate between seven and fourteen days. But I'll be able to get a more precise estimate once I have climate data."

"Diane has only been missing for one week. If this woman has been dead longer than that it cannot be her."

"Sorry, can't help you with identification yet. It's impossible to tell age ion her state of decomp. "

"What about cause of death?" Samantha asked.

"This here." Dr. Sommer turned the head of the body slightly, revealing what undoubtedly looked like a wound to the back of the head. "A gunshot wound to the back of the head. She would have died instantly. Large calibre. Your typical execution style. But there is more. Her legs. She has severe laceration to her lower legs, the bones are broken. She probably had fresh injuries to her face as well."

"What could have caused them?"

"I'd say, if it weren't for the gunshot, that this is a classic hit and run."

"What happened to her then?"

"I can tell you that she was shot in the head and that she was hit by a car. Also, the car must have hit her first because she was standing upright, which she wouldn't have after taking one to the head. But you have the come up with the theory of how that fits together. I can't say that I envy your position." Dr. Sommer gave a wry smile. "I'll try to get my report to you as soon as possible." Dr. Sommer walked back to the road. 

Samantha looked around. The forest wasn't very thick. Plants and bushes had been trampled by the police and the couple who had found the body. There was no way to detect any trail made by the killer or killers.

"Let's get back to the road. We need to find the spot where the car hit her. It's probably not too far from here. This road isn't very well travelled, that explains why nobody saw anything. " They returned to the roadside. A forensic team was in the process of searching the area.

"Any luck so far?" Samantha asked a man who looked like he was in charge of this part of the investigation.

"Nothing so far. But most evidence would have been washed away after the rain in the last few days. The only thing we found is this." He led the agents to a pile of logs at the left side of the road. "Look at this log. It's splintered, something impacted with it not long ago. The wood hasn't darkened much yet, from that you can see that it must have been recent. We did collect some paint particles from it wood. It's most probably car paint. But any car could have hit that log. It's quite easy to lose control in the rain on this street. In any case, we'll analyse it and send the report to you."

"Can I see those paint splinters?" Danny asked the crime scene technician.

"Sure." the man sounded surprised, but showed Danny the plastic evidence bag. "Not much that you can see there."

Danny looked at the splinters. They were small all right, but clearly white in colour. A white car. The boyfriend didn't have his own car, but they knew of a stolen car.

"Samantha, the car theft that martin found out about yesterday. What colour was the stolen car?"

"It was a white VW van. Why?" Samantha asked, already guessing what Danny was talking about. This might turn out to be their first real lead on the case.

"The splinters are white as well. Without a test there is no proof, but I think we might look into this further."

"I agree. Any ideas where to start?" Samantha couldn't really see how they could find out who had been driving the car, if it had been the car that had killed Diane Durkin, and in a way her children right along with her.

Danny walked over to the police cars were Detective Dawson was enjoying an early breakfast of coffee and doughnuts. He held out the box of doughnuts to them. Both of them shook their heads. It was far to early for that kind of non-food. At least for people whose name was not Martin.

"Detective, where does this road lead? Is there a connection to the highway?"

"No. It just leads out to private property. There is a parking spot about half a mile from here. It's a popular starting point for hunters. About six miles further there is a farm or something. It's private property. Most of the forest around it is also privately owned."

"Thanks, I'll be checking out the area." Danny was surprised at how well they were working together with city law enforcement. Often inter-agency working relationship was strained enough. 

Samantha and Danny got back into the car and drove further down the road towards the private property located at it's end. While Samantha was driving, Danny called in to the office to order background on the property and it's owner as well as any incident reports around the time that hit-and-run must have occurred.

__

FBI Missing Persons Unit, New York City

November 22, 8.30 p.m.

Jack's morning at the office was starting out quite well. He had been woken by a call notifying him that Tom Dyson, Diane's ex-husband had been brought in. He had been in lock up related to a drug bust in the Bronx. He hadn't had nay papers on him and the police had only identified him the previous night. The police had not been able to make any drug charge stick, so he had now been transferred over to the FBI for questioning regarding the disappearance of his ex-wife as well as child neglect. He met with Vivian at the office.

"He's already in. I was just waiting for you." She greeted him.

"You okay with questioning him?" he asked, referring to her reaction the previous day.

"Yeah." Vivian took a deep breath, not sure whether she could keep her cool this time any better. Of all the cases she had dealt with, she had hardly ever had similar difficulties in focussing on the facts of the case.

Mr. Dyson did not look well rested. Nor did he look pleased about his change of location.

"Good morning, Mr. Dyson."

"What the hell do you want from me? I had nothing to do with the drugs. I was just crashing at the place. I already told the police everything I knew. What do you want from me?" Tom Dyson repeated angrily.

"This isn't about the drugs. A week ago your ex-wife Diane went missing from her apartment. She left her children in the apartment when she went out to a club. She never came back. Your daughter and you son Robert died as a result of that. Your son Tom is in the hospital in critical condition. This is what we want to talk to you about." Jack elaborated.

Tom Dyson was silent. The news was hitting him somewhat hard, that was obvious. He probably had not thought about what might happen to the kids. But regardless of the news he had just received, his mannerism had not changed.

"This is the first thing I have heard about her being missing. Haven't seen her in months, Can't see why I would want to see that bitch again."

"!When was the last time you saw her?"

"When she got me thrown in jail, that's when."

"We have witnesses that claim that you saw her November 14, and that the two of you were fighting. You have scratched on your neck. Care the explain how you got there?"

"I don't known. Ask the police. They weren't exactly being careful when they busted in. Ever heard about police brutality." Tom Dyson asked sarcastically.

"Mr. Dyson two of your children are dead because their mother didn't come home again, You were the last person seen with Diane."

"I didn't do anything. I haven't seen the bitch in months, I already told you that. Why would I? She probably ran off with some guy. She never was big on looking after them. Used to have social services over all the rime."

"And you didn't think it was necessary to excel as a parent either. Paying alimony didn't occur to you? It would made have made the lives of your ex-wife and children a lot easier."

"I have no incomes, check my revenue statement." Tom Dyson seemed to start enjoying himself. If he had something to hide from them, he wasn't worried about them finding it out.

"We will, Mr. Dyson." Vivian said with little conviction. As perfect as Tom Dyson had looked as a suspect on paper, he somehow didn't give them the right impression. Sure he had been an irresponsible father and husband, but his reassurance that he had not had any contact with his ex wife seemed believable. But no matter what impression he gave, the DNA test would tell them more. Vivian didn't know who they would do without science and time honoured investigative work. Sure, instinct and getting a feeling for the people involved, helped in their line of work, but she saw the dangers in getting too emotionally involved. She had seen that only the previous day when she had allowed her judgement to be clouded by emotion. Time and a good nights sleep had allowed her to regain more control. She still craved to bring whoever was responsible for those terrible deaths to justice, but she had herself under control now. She took a deep breath and left the interrogation room. They had heard all that they were going to get from Tom Dyson.

__

Property of Liam Kendall, outside New York City

November 22, 9.45 a.m.

They had to park their car about thirty minutes ago when they had encountered a sign and a roadblock indicating that they were about to enter private property. Since there was no way to contact to owner at the moment they had decided to continue on foot. They had assumed that the farm Detective Dawson had mentioned was just around the bend in the road, but it became clear that this wasn't the case. They had been walking through the thick forest for a while now with no sign of any kind of farm or house.

"I just don't get this case." Danny said. "Nothing makes any sense. Nobody knew Diane, nobody noticed that she was missing, and nobody noticed that her children were looked up alone for a week, starving to death. I don't get this how no one could notice anything."

´

"No one wants to get involved with the problems of other people." Samantha said. "But there is a lot more that doesn't make sense. Diane deliberately left everyone in the dark. She had no friends and her parents still believe that she worked as a cashier. She had something to hide. It has to do with the cash in her apartment. Whatever she was doing, it probably wasn't legal and it was probably what got her killed. And she was the one who left her children alone in the first place." Samantha pointed out, trying to distract herself from her aching leg. After the stair climbing the previous day, her leg didn't take much pleasure in the hike through the woods.

"Maybe. But she couldn't have known the she was going to be hit by a car. You can't lay all the blame on her."

"No, you can't. It's not just one person. Of course, her killer is guilty, but her kids could have been saved if just one person had taken the initiative and made sure that everything was all right. Diane's parents should have done that. We need to talk to her father. Maybe he knows more than her mother, who isn't exactly well informed about her daughter, as it seems."

They followed another bend in the road and a building, set back behind trees came into view. It was impossible to see any details, trees were hiding most of the property. Slowing down, Danny and Samantha carefully approached the building.

"I don't see any cars. Maybe no one is home." Danny whispered, just in case they weren't alone. 

Before Samantha had any change to reply, a shot exploded in the air above them. Samantha froze in shock. Suddenly, the cottage in the woods seemed unreal, all that she was certain of was the shot that had just been fired. It was all her mind could focus on. The shot echoed through her mind. Danny instantly yanked Samantha down to the ground with him as he dove for cover behind a tree.

"We're with the FBI. We just want to talk to the owner." Danny yelled, hoping that whoever had fired on them didn't intend to actually hit them.

"Are you okay?" he asked Samantha, who seemed dazed. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just my leg." That wasn't a lie. Her leg hadn't taken kindly to the sudden fall to the hard ground. But it wasn't the reason why she had frozen.

Danny knew that Samantha was lying, but now was hardly the time to press the issue. He got up carefully and waited. When no shots followed, he emerged from behind the tree, conscious of the risk he was taking. He had his gun raised and immediately trained it on the man who presumably had fired on them. A bearded man in his fifties, holding a rifle was standing in front of the houses main entrance. 

"Put the weapon down, I'm a Federal Agent." Danny demanded

The man complied silently, tossing his rifle to the ground. Danny walked toward him, wearily eying the man, but detected no signs that he intended to make a move. Danny grabbed the rifle and let out the breath he had been holding. The situation had been tense and he could very well have been wounded her even killed. The realization sent a chill down his spine. This wasn't something he could just shake off with his usual cheerful manner. Samantha joined him from behind the tree. She was still looking pale and shaken, Danny noted worried.

"Who are you?" He asked their would be assassin.

"I'm Ronald. What are you doing here?"

"We want to ask you a few question. Is this your property?"

"No, my brother Liam owns everything. But he is away on business. I'm taking care of the property while he is away." Ronald spoke strangely mechanical and slow.

"Why did you fire on us? That's assault on a federal agent." Danny asked.

"My brother told me not to let anyone come here other than the people he said are okay." It became clear that Ronald was slow of mind.

"Did your brother tell you about a woman named Diane? Does he know her?" Danny tried to keep the question simple.

"I don't know. I'm not good with names." Ronald shrugged.

Danny turned to Samantha. She nodded, this wasn't going to be easy. 

"I'm calling for back up. We need forensics here." Samantha got out her cell phone.

__

The Durkin's house, New York City

November 22, 3 p.m.

"Mr. Durkin?" Martin asked the man who had finally opened the door, after ringing repeatedly. 

"Yes that's me. What do you want?" the man looked like he had just gotten up.

"We're with the FBI, I'm agents Johnson, this is Agent Fitzgerald. We like to have a word with you about your daughter." Vivian introduced them.

"They already called me. I have nothing to say to you." he was about to close the door in their faces.

"Please, it is important that we find your daughter, she could be in danger. Do you know where she is?"

"No, and I don't want to know."

"Can we talk to your wife then?"

"She's still at the hospital, went there as soon as they called about the grandchildren. She told me that you already talked to her yesterday. What more do you want from us."

"Two of your grandchildren are dead, Mr Durkin, and your daughter is missing. You should talk to us." Martin tried to reason.

"It's all her fault, This was just waiting to happen. She'd always been like that.

What is she like? Is she mentally ill. Please you need to tell us."

Vivian shook her head, this wasn't working.

"Mr Durkin, you either cooperate with us, or you'll be charged with obstruction of justice. "

This threat worked better than every attempt at reasoning. He unsecured the door and let them in. This wasn't a case where the children had surpassed the social status of their parents. The house was perfectly normal, middle class suburban, not like the inner city dump where his daughter lived.

"Please sit down", he led them to the couch, his demeanour having suddenly changed with the threat of criminal charges."

"About your daughter when was the last time you saw her or spoke to her?"

"I haven't seen her since last Christmas. It was the only tome she ever come by when I was round, She often comes when I'm not home. My wife is still trying to help her. It's pointless."

"What problem did your daughter have?"

"All of them, She been like that since she was young. Going out, spending money she doesn't have, taking drugs."

"What kind of drugs did she take?"

"Pills, all kinds of them, She went to a clinic when she was first pregnant, I have no idea whether she still takes them. She used to take all kinds of stuff. She was even arrested when she was seventeen. But they just let her go, She should have gone to jail, that would have straightened her out."

"Do you know whether she had been using any drugs presently?"

"No and I didn't want to know. She wouldn't have listened anyways. Not to me. You'll have to ask my wife about that."

"Any friends, boyfriends of your daughter, or places she frequented?

She's run, that right? She was married to some son of a bitch. Getting divorced from him was the best she thing ever did. But he'd to beat he and children r for two years before she finally did it. And even then it was only after he put her in the hospital with a broken nose and a concussion."

"What his name?"

"Tom Dyson." He spat out the name. "of he ever shows his face around here, he'll regret it. Ever since she was married to him , it only got worse."

"What got worse?" impatience started to appear in Vivian's voice,

"lost her job, stopped paying the bills, got her phone disconnected. But my wife would always jump in. But she was always using all her money on drugs."

"Mr Durkin, do you know any friends, anyone your daughter might have had contact with on a regular basis?"

"No."

´The rest of the interview was equally fruitless. It was clear that Mr. Durkin had kept out his daughter's troubled life. Discouraged, Martin and Vivian left.

"I don't believe this guy, he completely looses all interest in his daughter, including his grandkids?" Martin wondered as soon as they had stepped out in the street again."

"We see it every day. Maybe he had juts given up one day. We need to talk to her mother, sounds like she might tells us more. The father said she was a drug user, but we didn't find anything in her apartment, no pills, no other drug paraphernalia.

But what was all that money for?"

"Maybe she was saving. And she didn't take it to the bank because she earned it by doing something she didn't want the tax bureau to know about, or maybe nobody."

"That would mean that we're not looking for a fugitive but a victim?"

"No proof for either she could have just walked out when it all got too much, but she would probably have taken the money with her. Before we have confirmation on the body in the woods, we won't be able to tell. Hopefully Danny and Samantha will have news for us soon."

__

FBI Missing Persons Unit, New York City

November 22, 4 p.m.

Danny and Samantha had returned from their action filled morning in the woods. The reports from the pathologist would still take at least until the evening, but most probably until the next day. For now, they had enough paperwork to file in the wake of having been shot at. Forensics had uncovered the bullet from the rifle. It had been far off from hitting them. Ronald Kendall had been alone in the house and search had revealed nothing. Ronald was with social services at the moment. He had not been able to tell them were they might find his brother. As Danny had already suspected he was mentally retarded and as far as they had learned he had been in the care of his brother for decades. But that was all they had been able to ascertain for the moment. No link to the dead body had turned up. The car involved in the accident might very well have made a turn at the parking place and never reached the cottage. It was another dead end.

Samantha was angry at herself and frustrated about the case. It seemed so pointless sometimes. This morning had illustrated it. They had risked their lives for a dead lead in a case where in all likelihood there was no one left to find. It was all so random, it seemed. She got up and walked over to the window, aware the Danny's gaze was following her. He hadn't mentioned the episode at the cottage but his look was telling. The city was buzzing by in front of the window. What did their work matter to them? For who could they actually do something? Certainly not for Diane or their children.

Martin who had been sitting at his desk reading something, suddenly called for them.

"Danny, Sam, just got the report from forensics. From Diane's apartment. No trace of accelerant, but it was arson. They found the remnants of a lighter at the origin of the fire. No usable prints on the lighter. Print analysis from the rest of the house is still in the works. So far we have family members and several sets of unknown prints, we're hoping to find a match. No prints from the ex-husband yet. On the money there were traces of GHB. It looks like Diane was still into drugs. That would explain why she needed that much money."

"Sounds like a theory." Jack conceded. "We need to find her dealer. We'll start by getting info on all the known drug dealer in the neighbourhood, find out who is carrying GHB." Jack ordered just as Vivian returned to the office.

"I've got bad news." Vivian announced. " I talked to the DA, but there is nothing he can do. We have to let Tom Dyson go. The DNA sample is out of the question as well. "

"Let him go, you have to be kidding?" Martin asked.

"I wish I were. But because no one at the club is willing to testify that they were there, we have no more witnesses that place her with him. For all we can prove, he might as well not have seen her for months like he claims."

"Isn't there something else we can hold him on? What about that drug bust?" Martin still wasn't happy about the situation, as was everyone in the room.

"His tox screen is negative and there was no drugs found on him, so they can't charge him. He's a free man. Even he has rights" Danny said.

"We'll keep him under surveillance. "Jack suggested.

"I don't think that'll give us anything. I talked to the officer in charge of the drug operation. They had the place under surveillance for the last ten days. They never saw him leave. So I don't think he had her held hostage anywhere. He's not the type either. He might have killed her right there in the parking lot and then gotten rid of the body."

"I'll have the CSI team use luminol on the apartment of the drug bust. It's his only known place of residence. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"It's a big if. Even if they do find blood, without a DNA result it will not get us anything with the DA."

"Since this lead isn't working out, Danny and I found something else that might be of interest." Samantha announced.

"Yeah, this morning I made a request for any incident reports in the area where the still-unidentified body was found. What local police failed to mention to us what that the parking place about two miles from the dumpsite is a know out-of-the-city drug trading spot. Narcotics had two major operations going there in the last year alone. So we were thinking that since we still don't know what Diane was doing was the large amounts of money she was having in her apartment and she used to do drugs, maybe she was driving out there with her dealer. A fight turned ugly, she gets out of the car, or he makes her get out and then she's hit by a car. Maybe by accident, maybe not."

"That's all just speculative. We still don't have confirmation."

"I'll make a call down to forensics, maybe they already have the tox report on the DB in the forest." Danny offered.

"No need for that. I'll do that. I'll need to get down there later anyways." jack said. He was aware of the looks that Vivian and Danny shot him, but he didn't elaborate. Now was not the time to explain, he could still do that once he had the results of the forensics test on the threat note he had received. "In the meantime, martin, go over what we have again. Check all of her contacts from the phone records. Maybe there is something we missed. Samantha and Danny, check into Liam Kendall, his property and the drug angle."

Samantha sighed, she was going to be chained to her desk for the rest of the day. But she didn't feel that apprehensive about it today. Unlike yesterday, she didn't exactly feel overconfident about her ability to handle herself in the field. The memory of this morning was still vivid on her mind. The looks that Danny kept giving her ever since they had gotten back to the office had only confirmed that he had very well noticed what was going on and had drawn the right conclusions from it. She could only hope that he wasn't going to go to Jack because of it. More worry and concern from him was the last thing she needed right now.

FBI Forensics Labs New York State Division

November 22, 4-30 p.m.

Jack has left the office right after the meeting. The case didn't require his immediate attention, they had reached a temporary standstill while waiting for the results of forensic tests. But he had important matters to attend right now. He had handed in the anonymous note he had found on his car the previous night. He had requested that he be paged when the results were in. 

Angie Wright, specialist for document analysis was already awaiting him in her small, cluttered office, filled with reference paper sample and books.

"Agent Malone, I've been expecting you. Here's the report on the note you gave me. I'm sorry, I don't have much for you. As you probably suspected, there were no prints on the paper. The printing was done with a laser printer, most likely newer model. With the number of new models on the market, we don't have a database for them. But when you find the printer, there may be a possibility for a positive match. The paper is standard as well. But one thing: there were traces of GHB on the paper. You author most likely frequents drug circles. I hope that helps you in your investigation." Angie shrugged and handed jack a Manila folder.

"Thanks for getting this done for me so quickly." Jack got up to leave.

"Agent Malone. I'll need to official case forms for this evidence." she reminded him.

"Of course, I'll get them to you by tomorrow."

Jack replied absentmindedly. There were no official forms, because there was no case. Not at the moment at least.

"There is no rush. Have a good night, Agent Malone." Angie said cheerfully before he left her office.

Missing Persons Unit, New York City

November 22, 6 p.m.

He was too late. She was already on her way out. He hadn't wanted to have this conversation somewhere in a corridor. Truth was he didn't want to have that conversation at all. He knew he had to bring it up, but still he didn't feel like he was in the right position to tell her. And more importantly, he worried about her reaction. She would be furious, hurt and angry. And that anger would be directed at him, at least in the heat of the moment. She was in a difficult situation. He had been there himself and knew how hard to was to get back to the same routine at work as before, In a way, it would most likely never happen, but hopefully she would find peace with what had happened. It wasn't going to come over night, but talking about it with someone outside would help. He needed to have that conversation, not just for Sam's sake, but also because of his responsible toward the work and the rest of the team. In the extreme case, it could cost them their lives. They had to be able to rely on another in the file, trust each othe with their lives. At the moment, he wasn't sure he could trust Samantha to keep her cool in a tense situation.

"Sam!" he called after her.

She promptly stopped, turning around to him. She gave him that familiar smile of hers, making it even harder to form the words he needed to say.

"Sam, I'd like to have a word with you,"

The smile was returned, by mild alarm.

"Sure. In your office? Her tone let him know that she knew that this was going to be unpleasant. He lead the way, hearing her steps behind him as she followed him into his office. He sat down at the edge of the table, searching for the right words, where he knew where none.

Samantha was getting more nervous every second. She knew that nothing pleasant was going to come up and she hadn't forgotten about Jack's reaction when he had met her at the scene the previous morning.

"I talked to Danny after you two got back from the scene this morning. He told me what happened at the cottage." he paused, not looking at her directly. Samantha didn't say anything, there was nothing she could say to defend herself because Jack was right. She had hesitated to pick up her gun when they had been at the property. Part of her wanted to lash out at him for bringing this up, but part of her saw his point. For the moment she managed to restrain herself. She decided to wait for what else Jack had to say. 

"Samantha, it is very early after the shooting and maybe you should see someone about it. I want you to see someone about it. "

She didn't know what to say.

"I'll think about it." She finally replied evasively. 

"That's not good enough, Samantha. I need you in the field at one hundred percent."

She nodded, having no intention to follow his advice unless he made it an order. She suddenly felt like a defiant teen-ager again. Jack, to her surprise, didn't continue to press the issue.

"It's been a long day. Maybe you should go home and get some rest." he said and grabbed his briefcase, ready to leave as well. He simply didn't feel up to discussing the question of professional help further with Samantha at the moment. 

"Okay. Nothing to say against that." Samantha smiled and got ready to leave. The two of the walked to the garage, keeping several meters distance between them. They didn't have any plans together, those days were over, but still, after the OPR investigation, they had to do everything possible to avoid further suspicions of improper conduct

.Samantha's thought were still with her conversation with Jack as she exited the elevator and stepped into the garage. Jack who had been ahead for her was still there, he was standing hunched over the hood of his car. She couldn't see what he was doing, but it certainly struck her as more than a little odd.

"Jack, are you all right?"

Jack looked around, almost fearful. She had clearly caused him to jump.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." he said.

Samantha didn't believe him, but after their conversation earlier in his office, she didn't want to risk an argument by prying into his private affairs. But uneasiness stayed with her as she climbed into her car and drove home.


	5. 4

Disclaimer etc, see Chapter 1

A/N: Special thanks to M for her help. 

__

FBI Missing Person's Unit, New York City

November 23, 8 a.m.

Jack Malone's day had not started out very well. He had woken up groggy after having lain awake until the early morning hours. Doubts about what he was doing had followed him home the previous night and had refused to leave him alone. Work had rarely seemed so complicated and the weight of the responsibility that he was bearing as a supervisory special agent was particularly heavy today. 

His team was gathered in the conference room. When he looked at them, he could see the trust that existed between them. They also trusted him to make the right decisions. But he might just be about to betray that trust, as he was walking on thin ice as well. Without trusting each other, with their lives if necessary, it was impossible to do this job every day, to face the risk and to walk into unpredictable situation. Each of them had to know that they could count on the other.

What Danny had told him yesterday had worried him, and confirmed the impression he had already had himself. Samantha wasn't ready to come back to active duty. It was his responsibility to make a judgment, and order her to seek help if necessary. Those were the rules, and they were painfully clear about what he had to do. But the reality was hardly ever that clear: the picture there was muddled with emotions and a passionate past between them. But even now, what he regretted was that it was the past. 

It was over. It was for the better, every bit of reason he had told him that, but he still longed for that time. But longing or not, he had to do something about the situation. After his half-hearted attempt to talk to Samantha the previous day, he would have to try again and pull rank, no matter how much he hated to resort to that.

He sighed, frustrated and angry for allowing himself to be in that position. It wasn't just Samantha who might not be fit for duty, he knew that his own choices since the beginning of the case had been questionable as well. 

Once everyone was assembled, they went on to discuss the strategy for the investigation. Now they were at a point where progress was going to be very difficult and frankly, unlikely. The long time span that had passed between Diane's disappearance and the start of the investigation had put them at the disadvantage from the start. Now, after two full days of investigation, they had little to show for it. The only thing they did have with certainty were dead bodies. The report had been on his desk in the morning. The body found in the woods was Diane Durkin. Identified with the help of dental records.

"The body has been identified as Diane Durkin. According to Dr. Sommer's estimate, she has been dead between seven and nine days. That means that it is quite likely that she was killed on the night of November 14 after leaving Club Aragon. She wasn't sexually assaulted and there were no signs of a struggle. She probably left the club with someone she knew or otherwise trusted."

"Not necessarily. If she was into prostitution, she could have gone with a client."

"Possible, but we have no evidence suggesting that she was into the trade. Her purse contained lipstick, tissues and her ID card. No condoms or anything else indicating that she was planning on meeting a man."

"I guess we can bury the hooker theory."

"One interesting thing: Diane was hit by a car several hours before she was shot. According to the report, she was bleeding extensively for a while, but was still alive when she was shot."

"That's weird. If a driver hit her and didn't want anything to do with the police for whatever reason, why not simply leave her for dead?"

"Maybe she knew the driver and they were afraid that she would survive and go to the police. They might have had to get a gun first, hence the delay between the accident, if it was one, and the shooting."

"I see what you're getting at. But wouldn't that be a bit too risky? I mean, someone could have found her in the meantime. Plus, assuming the driver dragged her out into the forest so that she wouldn't be spotted, their clothes would be full of blood. That and the damage to the car would make it rather stupid to try and go somewhere, get a gun and then come back. Do we know what kind of gun was used?"

"Semi automatic, tec nine."

"Not a gun a lot of people have lying around at home. And if she was with a drug dealer, then he would probably have had a gun handy already. Or at least a knife. It doesn't make sense." 

"Maybe it makes sense, if you take panic into account. Let's say that she was hit accidentally by someone. The person panics, drives off and it later occurs to them that they might be identified. So they finish the job."

"It takes a lot of cold-bloodedness to shoot an unconscious woman in the back of the head. But now that we have a time of death, we can start checking alibis. Both of her parents and the ex-husband. Let's bring him in again."

"Uhhm. That might be difficult. Just before I got here, the team shadowing Tom Dyson called. They've lost him."

"How did that happen?" Jack asked angrily, looking around the room, as if searching for the party to blame for the slip-up.

Everyone shrugged.

"Okay, we'll put out an APB. The hospital called, the son is awake and we can try to talk to him today. Did you get anything more on the DNA test and the phone records?"

"Nothing on the DNA test, but we traced a cell-phone back to one Lydia Atkinson. That's the only number we haven't checked out yet."

"Get on it and take Martin with you." Samantha raised an eyebrow. She had expected that Jack would put her in the office again, especially after she had not been exactly in agreement with him yesterday. But she wasn't going to argue. While Martin wasn't her partner of choice lately, as he too looked at her as if he doubted that she was ready to go back into the field, she preferred working with him to working with Danny after what had happened the previous day.

Danny hadn't talked to her about it, he'd only talked to Jack, but it was probably only a matter of time until he brought the subject up. But then, maybe not. Danny might be the only person not to ask any questions. He kept his affairs to himself, and didn't pry into those of others.

"Danny, you can work from the office, check alibis, try to find the car and get in contact with narcotics again. Maybe they'll be able to give us something on who's dealing GHB in the neighbourhood."

"I'm on it."

"Vivian, you're with me. We're going to the hospital."

__

Streets of New York City,

November 23, 9.45 a.m.

"Is everything all right?" Martin asked

"Yes. Why are you asking?" Samantha immediately went on the defensive.

"It's just after what happened yesterday. I mean it's very soon after…"

"I'm fine," she replied with emphasis, trying to convince both of them.

"Fair enough," Martin replied.

The rest of the drive passed in silence. Samantha stared out the window, watching the city and its inhabitants pass by. They were all strangers to each other, anonymous faces. How many of them could go missing without anyone taking notice? Who, outside of the people at the office, would miss her?

Finally, they stopped in front of Lydia Atkinson's home. The neighbourhood was markedly different from Diane's. Individual houses, with double garages and neatly manicured front lawns. Perfect suburbia. A dark blue SUV was parked in front one of the garage doors.

Martin and Samantha walked up to the front door. They rang the bell, but nobody answered. Not a sound came from inside the house. Samantha checked her watch. 11 a.m. If both Lydia and her husband were at work, what was the car doing in the driveway? 

"I'm going to take the left side, you take the right side." Martin seemed to share her thought. They split up, circling the house in the hopes of catching a glance inside.

On her way to the backyard, Samantha passed a window. She glanced inside. What she saw was not what she had been expecting. Inside what looked like a study, chaos, blood and destruction told the story of a violent struggle. Furniture was overturned, books were lying on the floor. Blood spatter on the wall and the floor, but no body in sight.

"Martin!" she yelled out.

__

FBI Missing Person's Unit, New York City

November 23, 11 a.m.

Running background checks usually was rather dull and, like most agents, Danny didn't like office work very much. It was out in the field where he felt that he could make a difference. But a lot of investigative work relied on solid information. Especially in this case, were so many players were somehow involved, they needed to have solid background on all of them. A deeper check into the club owner and his employees had not turned up anything. No criminal history and no financial irregularities. His contacts in the narcotics department didn't have anything of substance to offer either.

The DNA results had come in. Danny opened the file and scanned the report. No match. Skin cells under Diane's fingernails did not match her ex-husband. The scratch on his neck had most likely not been caused by her. Another dead end. The case seemed to consist of nothing else. How could the death of a mother and two children just happen? The idea that they might never find who was responsible, and it might all have just been the result of as series of unfortunate events was repulsive to him.

He had seen his share of injustices, but this felt different. It felt like there had to be more to it. Maybe that was just his unwillingness to face the fact that they would not be able to solve the case, he kept telling himself. Normally, he didn't rely much on intuition during an investigation. That was more Jack's and Samantha's area of expertise.

Maybe it was intuition, maybe it was a random hunch or just his experience as an investigator, but Danny decided to run a check on the owner of the cottage were he and Samantha had been shot at the previous day. While the owner had done nothing to warrant investigation, Danny was more than surprised at what he found. His hunch had certainly been dead on.

Within an hour, the neighbourhood was swarming with law enforcement officers and crime scene technicians. Neighbours were standing in their front yards, gawking at the scene unfolding in the formerly peaceful suburban community. Samantha was appalled by the mixture of shock and excitement on their faces.

After securing the house, they had called the crime scene technicians. The inside of the house had seemed perfectly normal, no sign of violence or disturbance, aside from the blood and destruction in the small study. All signs of a crime were confined to that room. At least the obvious signs. As soon as the criminologists finished up, Martin and Samantha were going to take a more thorough look at the interior.

As far as they could ascertain for the moment, Lydia Atkinson and her six-year-old daughter, Sina, were missing. Lydia's husband, Warren, was at a business trip in Philadelphia, but he was on his way back to New York City as soon as he had heard about what had happened. According to what he had told them on the phone, he had left town two days ago, and had recently spoken with his wife.

"I just got off the phone with Merton Pharmaceuticals. They confirmed Warren Atkinson's business trip. He's scheduled a to give a series of presentations lasting all week," Martin informed Samantha.

"Well, sounds like he has an alibi. But we'll have to make sure that he didn't have an opportunity to slip away from the conference. Check his credit cards and bank accounts."

"Already called the office about that. It looks like they're done inside." Martin indicated the crime scene technicians emerging from the house.

__

The Atkinson's Residence, New York City

November 23, 1 p.m.

The home was nicely furnished. Light yellows and cream tones dominated the décor. The corridor let into a spacious combined living room was kitchen area. Both were cleaned spotless. No signs that a fight had taken place. The white shelf that extended over the entire left wall, was filled with books. Samantha browsed the backs. The classics of American literature, some contemporary fiction, a few travel books about Europe. She turned her attention to the framed photographs on the wall. Lydia and her husband were in only a few of them. Most were of cities and landscape. The pictures weren't labelled, but the buildings looked European. She heard a noise and turned around, hand on her gun.

"Hey, don't shoot me." martin said laughing. "I had a look at the bedroom. It's the same as here. Straight out of beautiful living. Nothing missing jewellery still in the closet, cash and passports of both Lydia and her husband here there as well."

"She must have know her kidnapper, assuming it there was one. She let him in or he had a key. I say we take a look at the study." They proceeded to the small study. It stood in sharp contrast to the rest of the house. Messy, thrown together furniture, blood stains all over. It was as if it didn't even belong to the same people. The table was cluttered with books and piles of paper. Samantha and Martin carefully started sorting through the pages. Most of them were photocopies from books about religion and religious groups. There were a few newspaper clipping regarding religious violence. A copy of the Bible and several Bible commentaries were among the books on the table.

"She most have been researching something about religion." Martin stated the obvious. 

"But there is something missing. I don't see a computer or any handwritten notes." Samantha glanced around, but saw nothing. "Someone might have taken it. Maybe it went something like this. Whoever wants her research visits her, first demand that she hand it over, when Lydia refuses a struggle ensues."

"Possible. But it doesn't explain why they took her and her daughter. A child would only be in the way if the kidnapping had something to do with her work on a story."

"Maybe Lydia wasn't the target. Something might have gone wrong. Assuming that someone was after her daughter. She tried to protect her and is killed in the process. But then" Samantha reconsidered "Why would someone try and grab a six year old at home and not out at the playground or after school." She shrugged and returned her attention to the room.

Martin was still busy going through the mess on the floor. Most of it was books that had probably fallen from the table in the struggle.

__

FBI Missing Person's Unit, New York City

November 23, 2 p.m.

Warren Atkinson looked fatigued and shaken when an agent led him into the office. Jack and Samantha introduced themselves and asked him to take a seat.

"Mr. Atkinson, we know this is a difficult time for you. But we need to ask you some questions about your wife and daughter. Did your wife seem different recently?"

"Not really. She has been anxious these last few days, but she's always had phases. She's been seeing a therapist since right after Sina was born."

"What was the name of her doctor?"

"Dr. Lang. I can write down his address for you," he offered. 

Jack handed him a piece of paper. Mr Atkinson scribbled down a name and address.

"What abour your wife's social circle? Any friends she met on a regular basis?"

"Not that I know of. She occasionally got together with mother's of Sina's friends, but I don't know any of them. You see my wife and I, we really keep to ourselves."

"You wife stays at home?"

"More or less. She works as a freelance journalist. But to tell you the truth, it's just an indulgence of hers. Lydia hasn't published anything in years. She used to be quite successful, but ever since Sina, she's had other priorities. Sina is her life. She was downright spoiling her. I kept telling her that." Warren sighed.

"Do you or wife any enemies, people who might want to hurt you?"

"No, of course not." he shook his head.

"Do you think my wife and daughter are still alive?"

"We don't know. We think this case might be connected to another case. Do you know a woman named Diane Durkin?"

"No. Wait wasn't that the woman who disappeared and let her children starve to death? I saw something on the news about her. But I certainly haven't know her before and Lydia certainly hasn't either. You think that what happened to my family has anything to do with that woman?" he sounded incredulous.

"We can't be sure." Vivian left out the fact that they knew that Diane and Lydia had been in contact with each other. If Warren Atkinson had played a role in his wife's disappearance, they had to avoid giving him too much information.

"One last question: how were things in your marriage?"

"Why do you want to know this?" Mr Atkinson's demeounr changed toward a more aggressive attitude. "this is none of your business."

"It is standard procedure in cases when a spouse is missing." Jack tried his most calm tone.

"Things were all right. I spend a lot of time out of town, but everything is fine between us." Mr. Atkinson finally replied with conviction.

"Thank you Mr. Atkinson, we might have further question for you later."

Samantha and Jack left the room.

"So what do you think of him?"

"Not much. He's lying to us. About his marriage at the very least. He has no idea what his wife is doing all day. And he never called home while he was on a business trip. Come on. If that's true, there is serious trouble in the marriage."

Her last sentence hit jack hard. Had he too just assumed much of the decay of his marriage as a normal consequence of having been married for seven years? But dwelling on that question wasn't going to help. He had made the choice to work on making his marriage work and that was what he was going to do, in spite of his undeniable feelings for Samantha.

"You clearly aren't married, Samantha." Jack replied lightly, smiling for the first time all day, but the smile failed to reach his eyes.

"I know I was married once." Samantha answered, sadness invading her, as the parade of her failed relationships moved through her mind. Regret at never having had a successful long standing relationship.

Jack saw the sadness on Samantha's face. Seeing her like this almost physically hurt Jack. He longed to put her arm around her for comfort but was acutely aware that this gesture was not a good move, especially not given his history with Samantha. He felt helpless and trapped.

"We need to get going." he finally said, hoping that work would provide a distraction as it did so often.

FBI Missing Person's Unit Conference Room. New York City

November 23, 3.45 p.m.

"Lydia was last seen by her husband around 7.30 a.m. this morning. We checked with his secretary, it fits with the time he arrived at the office. NYPD has been talking to the neighbours. Two neighbours claim to have seen her car in the drive way between 8 a.m. and 9 a.m. . She missed her 11 a.m. appointment. Something must have happened, between the time her husband left and the appointment."

"Her credit card shows no activity since the day before she disappeared, but an extensive financial check is on its way. But the husband' s credit card shows that a week ago, he paid $2000 to an independent lab. The lab specializes in parenthood DNA testing."

"Okay, let's say that he tells her that he doubts that he's the father and says that he's getting the test. She freaks because she knows what it's gonna say. Sina isn't Daddy's little girl. The next day, she waits for the husband to leave, and then she runs because she's afraid of the fallout.

"She didn't take anything with her, no clothes, not even for her daughter. If she left over an hour after her husband did, she would have had time for that," Vivian said

"Yes, that's the timeframe we are looking at. Between 7.30 a.m. and 11. a.m." Sam marked it on the whiteboard.

"She made one phone call during that time. To her friend Diane. At 7.37 a.m., it lasted 23 minutes." Martin read from his notes. "That would fit with Danny's theory that she left because of the paternity test. She calls up her friend, tells her what's going on and they figure out a plan."

"Sam, Danny, I want you to go over to this friend. Martin, you go check out the gym, Vivian, you're with me. The husband said she freelanced for Women's Touches, we are meeting with the editor in chief tonight."

"Lydia was out all night. That was the same night that Diane was killed out on the road to the cottage. The next day, Lydia makes an appointment with Dr. Walter, her psychiatrist. We won't be able to get her patient file so easily, but we found a prescription for Lorazepam, an anti-anxiety medication, with a matching date in her apartment. There are four pills missing. Lorazepam is normally taken for acute anxiety attacks.

According to her husband, she had been in treatment for anxiety before in the past, but he wasn't aware that she had been taking medication recently. He did however say that she seemed disturbed, but he left on a business trip on the same night. When he called her the next morning, she told him that she was planning to drive up to her mother's. There was a highway toll booth receipt from New Jersey, confirming that she in fact drove there and returned. We haven't been able to find out what she did there, but I've notified the field office and they are looking into it.

The same evening, she takes out $5000 out of her checking account. At a bank in Manhattan. We don't know yet what she did with them. There was no cash in her house. That is the last record we have of her. A neighbour saw her on November 20, coming back home around 8 p.m. She hasn't been seen since then."

"So, she and her daughter might be missing for as long as three days?"

"Afraid so."

"That would tie in with her phone records. The last call from her phone was made just before she went back that afternoon."

"Forensics will be able to give us an estimate on how old the blood in the house is. The report should be in by tomorrow morning"

"What else did you get on her phone?" Jack asked Martin.

"Not much, but there is a pattern. Her cell phone records show almost no activity in the last three months, aside from calls to Diane about twice a week, along with a few calls to her mother and her husband's office. Nothing probative. Then suddenly, the day after Diane was killed, she started making an average of ten calls a day. Most of them to a cell phone, we're still working on it. But it was probably one of the cell phones she used. In total, she made twenty-five calls between the night Diane was killed and the last time she was seen.

She must have known something. Her behaviour radically changed the night that Diane was murdered." 

"We've been looking for the common factor between Lydia and Diane, right? But aside from the money, we've found nothing. Nobody knew they had anything to do with each other, no one has ever seen them together. I noticed that in Diane's apartment. She had a Bible on her nightstand, and it looked like she had been reading it quite a lot. But no one we talked to ever mentioned her being religious. The same with Lydia, she has been reading the Bible and books about Christianity and its history. But her husband said she wasn't involved in any church. Maybe that's where they met."

"But why would they be hiding it? It's obvious that Lydia didn't want her husband to know what she was doing. She made it stories to cover up where she was going. And I didn't get the impression that her husband was particularly against religion."

"Maybe they got caught up in some sort of sect or cult. They often swear their members to secrecy, they have to promise not to tell anyone about the group," Danny proposed.

"Wow, you know your way around. But maybe there is something to it. The cottage is the only place on the road where Diane was killed. So it is quite possible that she was heading to the cottage or with someone who was going there. Now we can exclude Liam Kendall's brother, he wouldn't be capable of it. We know she wasn't with her ex-husband when she left the club. We have another man to find. I suggest we start with finding Liam Kendall."

"That's pretty far-fetched. But run the owner of the cottage and see what you come up with."

"Already did that. As we already know, it's owned by Liam Kendall, who inherited the property and the surrounding forest from his father. His father seems to have inherited the land directly from the Almighty himself. No property records of a pervious owner are available. Mr. Kendall has never had a job or an encounter with law enforcement, as far as our records go. We haven't gotten any further on this."

"Social security might be able to help us on that. If he's fake, we'll find out about it," Martin suggested.

"That's pretty thin, from where I'm standing." Vivian said.

"Maybe, we'll follow up on it. Sam, you and Danny already made a bad impression on Mr. Kendall. Vivian and I will pay him another visit while you two canvas the churches in Diane's and Lydia's neighbourhood. Maybe someone remembers them. Maritn, there're a lot of churches, so you're on it, too."

Samantha had the impression that Jack's gaze was lingering on her. He hadn't given her any assignment yet, and frankly there wasn't a lot she could do at the moment.

"Okay, get to work." Jack broke off the meeting. Once everyone except him and Samantha had left, he turned to her.

"Samantha, I need to talk to you about something," Jack said, as Samantha was about to put on her coat and get ready to leave the office for the day.

"Okay. What's it about?" she asked, fearing that he was going to bring up her field ability again. This time, she wasn't going to get away so easily. She was fully aware that it was within Jack's duty and responsibility to disqualify her from fieldwork, if she wasn't fit for it. There was a very real possibility that he was going to pull rank on her and order her to see the in-house psychologist.

"Let's talk in my office," Jack replied, evasively. 

Now both intrigued and anxious, Samantha nodded and followed him.

They were almost at Jack's office when suddenly, Vivian's alarmed voice startled them.

"Jack, Sam, can you come over quickly?" 

" NYPD just called. Diane's father called 911 twenty minutes ago. When the officers showed up at his home, they found the dead body of Tom Dyson. The father has already made a full confession. He claims that he avenged the murder of his daughter and grandchildren. He's been arrested."

Samantha and Jack listened, shell-shocked. DNA tests had shown that Tom Dyson had most likely been innocent in Diane's murder. But her parents had not known this. As far as they knew, Tom was guilty of murdering their daughter and, indirectly, two of their grandchildren.

Jack could understand Mr. Durkin's rage and need for revenge. Every father wanted to protect his children. He did not know and didn't want to know how he would react if he was ever faced with a similar situation. As much as he condemned vigilante justice, he understood the human emotion that had driven it. The need and responsibility to protect those he cared about was why he had wanted to talk to Samantha just before he had learned about this new development in their case.

Without looking up, he spoke. His voice was detached, belying the scene around him. It stood in stark contrast to the blood-spattered walls, the crime scene tape, the coroner's van parked outside.

He sat there, hunched over, elbows on his knees. There was still blood on his hands. He was bleeding from a gash on his forehead, probably a result of the struggle.

He had just killed a man, but spoke of it like it had happened to someone else.

"He ruined her. She always had a problem, but it got out of hand when she met him. Do you know she never did drugs before him. He left, but the drugs stayed. And with the drugs, she always got into trouble with the police. She spent every penny she had on drugs, stopped eating because she didn't have any more money. She was a happy girl, wild, but happy. He took all that away from my little girl, he killed her."

"Mr. Durkin. We don't think that Tom Dyson killed your daughter. He was under police surveillance for the last week."

"He's guilty. He killed her; he took her life and her happiness away. The son of a bitch got what he deserved." There was an air of finality in his voice. He had done what he had felt he had to do, aware of the consequences. He was a man resigned to accepting his fate and paying the price for his actions.

"What about your grandson? He needs you now."

Mr. Durkin said nothing. He didn't move. He didn't resist when the police officers cuffed him and led him out.

"He isn't going to talk to us," Vivian remarked.

"No, he found his scapegoat. For him, Tim Dyson will always be the murderer of his daughter," Samantha said, sadly.

"We don't know either way. All we have is that they are pretty certain. And even the DNA sample will only tell us so much, " Vivian said with dissatisfaction. It was one of those cases where a shadow of doubt would always remain, and the only people who could tell the truth were either dead or refused to talk.

"It could place him with her." Samantha was referring to the DNA sample. "That would be more than we have at the moment. She met with a stranger, got hit by a car and was shot several hours after that."

"It wasn't him," Jack said with conviction.

"DNA will tell. So, where do we look now?"

"We wait for the DNA test, and go back for her friend, Lydia Atkinson. She is the last person we know talked to her, and now she is missing as well. She knew something. Chances are that the person connected to her disappearance was also involved with Diane's death."

"This case. I don't get it. Every way we turn, it gets more confusing, more people and more secrets. I just can't see how it's all connected together." Samantha sighed. 

"Do you have a theory?"

"No. That's the problem. Normally, I can see the possibilities, but here, nothing."

"I think the key is in whatever Diane and Lydia were doing together. Both had a secret together, and Lydia was paying Diane for something. Whatever this is, I think it might be the key. But to tell the truth, I have no idea what it could be."

There was nothing left to do but return to the office and face the mountain of paperwork. He knew that he could still continue where he and Samantha had left off. But he felt drained. Maybe he had just overreacted. He decided to put it off until he got a good night's sleep. The day had been long and rough for all of them, no need to add personal aggravation. Truth was he was tired and unwilling to enter a confrontation. Fortunately Maria had long given up on complaining about his irregular hours. Their eveningly conversations were reduced the long looks filled with resignation and disappointment. He wasn't looking forward to coming home at night.


	6. 5

__

A/N: Due to the absence of M who has done a great job proofreading the last chapter, you'll have to put up with my spelling and grammar again. ~~ denotes a flashback. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far.

Jack Malone's apartment, New York City

November 24, 5.45 a.m.

Maria had already been in bed when he had come home the night before. He had found a note on the kitchen table saying that she had a migraine and that he should drive the girls to school in the morning. Sadly, he noted to himself that he had come to the point of preferring no conversation over the forcibly civilized exchanges that they normally had. Indeed, when he got up in the morning, Maria was still asleep. He himself was fighting fatigue as the series of long nights were starting to take their toll. However, he was wide awake when he collected the morning paper from the mailbox and found a plain manila envelope along with it. What really alarmed him was how the envelope with addressed. There was no stamp, or street, only Jack Malone, FBI Agent, printed on the envelope. He looked around, but the hallway of the apartment building was deserted. He went back up to the apartment, set aside the newspaper and turned his attention to the envelope. He doubted that forensics would be able to find any prints on this note, as none had been on the last anonymous note he had received since they had gotten started on the case, but as a precaution he still donned a pair of latex gloves before opening the letter.

Inside was a single page of white paper and several photographs. He first read the letter. Like the two previous ones, he had found on his car, it contained a single sentence, printed in black.

__

We are watching you. 

This was what the message said this time. No concrete instructions or demand, just like before. That was why he had trouble taking this serious. There was no apparent agenda, somebody was just playing a joke or trying to rattle his cage. The photographs depicted the agents at various places during their investigation in the last few days. The parking lot of club Aragon, in front of Diane's apartment building and several others. All pictures appeared to have been taken from a distance.

__

~~~~~~~

It was always hard to out aside the work for the day, especially when they had made little progress. They had spent most of the day cutting through red tape and reading their way through court records and social service files. Necessary work, but it had not really gotten them closer to unravelling the mystery. They were still in the dark as to what kind of situation they were dealing with. Normally, he developed a feeling for it, but this time, it wasn't that easy. Everyone had painted a different picture of Diane: a drug addict, a struggling single mom, a disturbed, depressed woman, an irresponsible young woman you preferred going clubbing to looking after her children. Who was Diane Dyson really? To him as a father to concept of abandoning one's own children like that seemed preposterous, but his work had taught him that there was no limit to the cruelties that people would inflict on one another. One of the worst kinds of cruelties could be difference. In this case indifference had killed two children. What would have been going on in the mind of a mother who did something like that? Drugs, the dark despair of mental illness, or foul play. Maybe she had intended to come back home that night, but had met someone who had changed her plans.

He reminded himself that he was now off work. Time to leave the case behind in the office building. He had just turned his thoughts toward the upcoming evening when his eye caught a white object under his Upon closer inspection he saw that it was a folded piece of white paper. He come closer, immediately on alert. His hand reached for his gun without him even thinking about it. This was a secure parking garage. He instinctively looked around, but he couldn't see anyone. He pulled out handkerchief to pick up the folded piece of paper. He unfolded it. 

*Be careful where you're going. You don't want to put your agents in danger.*

That was all. Printed in black ink. Assuming that this was related to their current case and he couldn't see any other possibility, there must be something they were missing. No one had seemingly cared about Diane being missing, but still they must have stepped on someone's toes enough to provoke such a reaction, The threat was generic and blank, but the fact that someone had gotten into the parking garage to put it there did something to accredit the source danger. He turned, taking the letter back up the stairs to the forensic lab. He doubted that there would be anything on the letter, but it was worth a shot.

~~~~~

This time around it was more serious. Whoever was doing this wasn't going to stop and they knew a lot. They knew what car he was driving, who he was working with and most gravely of all, where he lived. An uneasy feeling started to take hold of him. Maybe he had made the wrong choices regarding this. Maybe this had not been connected the Diane's case after all. They had now found her body and they odd of them ever solving the case were low and besides the main focus was now on Lydia's disappearance. He quickly put the envelope in his briefcase. He realized what he had promised Maria, but this was more important now. He quickly woke up Maria and told her that something had come up and that he needed to get to work as soon as possible. She gave him one of her resigned looks but said nothing.

__

FBI Missing Persons Unit, New York City

November 24, 7.45 a.m.

Danny was in early. The briefing was going to start until eight but he needed to run something by Jack before. Something he had discovered when he had been looking into Liam Kendall's property had struck him as very odd and he had decided that it would be best to discuss things with Jack before doing anything else. Danny was surprised to find the door to Jack's office open, but Jack not inside. He was just about to leave when something caught his eyes. At first he thought it were the crime scene photos from Diane that they had been waiting for. But the pictures on jack's desk weren't scene photographs. Those were pictures of the team working. He recognized him and Samantha walking across what looked like a nightly parking lot. Club Aragon maybe. He had thought that they were being followed that night, but had of course dismissed it as an odd feeling. Now he realized that that may have very well been the case. But who and what was Jack doing with the pictures? Was there some weird internal investigation going on? There was no way to tell, but he made a mental note, to be doubly attentive. Who knew, Jack might bring up the subject during this morning's briefing. For the moment, he wasn't going to mention it.

Jack had made use to his early arrival at the office. He had dropped off the letter at the forensics lab and had asked the technicians to compare it to the two earlier notes. Now, he was running later for the briefing. By the time he entered the conference room, the team was already assembled.

Danny was the only one who had not lost his cheerfulness and good mood yet. His colleagues were all looking rather grimly as they sat around the conference table.

"Good news, we've managed to contact Lydia's mother, she flew over last night. She's waiting for us now."

"Very good." Jack replied, still preoccupied with what he had found earlier. "Martin, have you found anything on the church angle?"

"Possibly yes. I called up several churched. At St. Aldate's church centre, they think they know a woman fitting Lydia's description. Also, the times their Bible studies class meets correlate with times when Lydia told her husband she was going to pottery class at the community college."

"Martin, you and Samantha can go down to St. Aldate's and check out the lead. Danny and Vivian, you talk to Lydia's mother. Maybe you can found out more about how things in Lydia's marriage were going." Jack grabbed a file from the table and headed out. He had something else to tend to. 

Lydia's mother was a woman in her fifties. She wore simple, yet expensive clothes. It was clear that she was a wealthy woman. Her face was stoic, if she had been crying, her make-up hid it well. Vivian and Danny introduced themselves, then sat down.

"Mrs. Kramer, we want to ask you a few question about your daughter."

"That's what the police told me. They also said that she had been to see me a few days ago and now she's missing."

"Yes, we're currently looking for your daughter and grand-daughter. Do you have any idea why your daughter wanted to see you?"

"No, I don't. I spoke to her on the phone about two weeks ago, everything was going okay, at least that's what she told me. But we haven't been that close."

"What happened between you?"

"Nothing happened, we just lead very different lives. Lydia was very attached to her father. He died two years ago. While I was almost glad that my marriage was finally over, she never really got over his death." Mrs. Kramer said coolly.

"When did Lydia marry Warren?"

"Three years ago maybe. Right after she was divorced. Far too early. I'm surprised that they're still together."

"If you say that, does that mean that he was unfaithful?"

"I don't know. Not that I would be surprised about it. But she never said anything, not to me at least. But, now that she had inherited her father's money, Warren has good reason not to leave her." She said somewhat cynically. "I'm still saying that she should have stayed with her first husband."

"Can you give us the name of her first husband?"

"Markus Feldman. He married Lydia right after high-school. Everything was fine, but she always wanted kids and he didn't. At least that was what she told me, but I don't believe that was the real reason what they separated. But before you ask, I haven't seen Markus again since then. I think he moved back to Europe."

It was clear that they weren't going to learn anymore about Lydia's relationship to her husband. Danny decided to pursue a different avenue.

"Do you know a woman named Diane Durkin, she's a friend of your daughter?"

"Yes, of course I know her." 

Danny and Vivian shared a look, that was the answer neither of the had excepted.

"Can you tell us more about her?" Vivian pressed on.

"Lydia brought her along when she visited me a couple of times. I didn't really approve of her, but Lydia seems to really care about her. I even saw her give Diane money. She said it was to help Diane out of her family."

"Did she ever tell you how they met?"

"Mhhm, I think they met when Lydia did research for some sort of story. She used to think that she was a journalist, but that's thankfully over now that she has Sina."

"What was that story about?"

"How should I know. If you want to know ask that newspaper that occasionally printed her work: the Double-Spin, some fancy weekly magazine. But why are you asking me all that. You're treating this like Lydia is some kind of criminal?"

The question left both Vivian and Danny momentarily speechless.

"We're just trying to find your daughter and return her home safely. That's what we do."

"What makes you think she didn't just leave her husband, I frankly don't understand why she didn't do that long ago." Mrs. Kramer grabbed her handbag and got ready to leave.

"Mrs Kramer, we found blood in your daughter's house. We think she might have fallen victim to a crime. Just a week ago, her friend Diane was murder. The crimes might just be connected. But we can't do anything if those around Lydia refuse to work with us." Vivian raised her voice. She could hardly believe how a mother could be so cold when her daughter might have been kidnapped or worse. Society condemned people like Diane Durkin for neglecting there children, but mothers like Mrs Kramer were no better with their complete lack of interest. Money and social standing were all that set them apart. But in the eyes of society that seemed to be all that it took.

"I'm sure you're doing what you can. I'll be staying in the city for a few days myself" Mrs. Kramer said coldly and left.

St. Aldate's parish centre, New York City

November 24, 8.30 a.m.

"Wow, impressive, the churches apparently still have money." Martin commented when they finally stood in front of the modern parish centre tucked away behind a church.

"They hide it well." Sam was referring to the fact that it had taken them almost twenty minutes to find the address as the centre could not been seen from the street. To access it one had to walk across the church garden.

They had hardly stepped into the spacious and surprisingly modern lobby of the parish centre when they were already greeted by a young man.

"Hello, what can I do for you?"

"I'm Agent Spade with the FBI, we're here to see Robert White."

"Yes, that's me. " he beamed at them. "WE spoke on the phone. I think the woman you described might have been here a few times."

"That's her." Martin handed him the picture.

"Yes, Lydia that's her name. She came here quite regularly. Expect last week. Did something happen to her?"

"We're not sure yet, she's missing. Is there anything you can tell us about her?

"She's new to our group, but has been a great . Her probing questions were quite challenging and her enthusiasm was wonderful. She's new to the faith but very eager to learn more."

"How long ago did she join our group?"

"Maybe eight or nine months ago. But the secretary can tell you for sure. "

"Did participate in any other activities in your church?"

"No, just the group and she used our library quite often. As I said, she was very enthusiastic. And she even introduced a friend to our group. Diane, I think, was her name. They came together for every meeting. I think, Lydia was driving from something I overheard."

"Did they get along well?"

"Yes, as far as I know. They seemed like best friends to me." he shrugged

"Is there any incident, or anything else you recall? An Interest in a particular topic, bible passage?"

"No, not as far as I can tell. But maybe looking at her library borrowing records might help you, I personally don't know which books she checked out, but the secretary can help you with that as well. You can find her office right down the corridor to your left."

"Thank you. On last question: did Lydia or Diane ever mention how they found religion?"

"You don't find religion, Agent Fitzgerald. The Lord calls all of us to him. " Martin raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"If you recall anything else that might be helpful, pleas let us know."

"I will. I'll also pray for her safe return."

They went back to the reception where the secretary seemed to be already waiting for them. They showed their badges and stated the reason for their visit. As before, they were met with friendliness and compliance.

"Of course, we'll do whatever we can to help you in your investigation. This is a list of all our members who participate regularly in groups."

"Can you get as a list of any books Diane Durkin or Lydia Hutchinson have taken out of the library?"

"Sure. Diane Durkin didn't take out any books. Lydia used the library on a regular basis. I'm going to print out a list of titles for you."

"Do you mind if we go up and have a look at some of the books she was reading?"

"Not at all. Just go up the stairs at the end of the corridor and you'll get the to library."

They followed the directions of the secretary and soon found themselves in a spacious room filled with bookshelf's. Overhead windows created a light and open atmosphere in the room. It was a pleasant place to read and study. The peaceful impression in here contradicted so much of what they had encountered so far on this case: the squalid apartment building where Diane had lived, the abandoned roadside, the blood spatter in Lydia's home.

Like the rest of the centre, the library looked very well kept and modern. The furniture couldn't be more than a few years old. 

"Definitely no budget problems here." Martin noted after looking at the compzrter terminals. "I wonder how the finance themselves"

"Donations maybe But their revenue declarations should be able to tell us more." Samantha got out her cell phone. "I'm going to request the documents." She explained to Martin and left the room so that she wasn't disturbing the few readers who were already in the library at this early hour.

Martin strolled along the shelves, scanning book backs. There were several translations of the bible, commentaries, glossaries, books on contemporary issues, books on saints and religious leaders. Nothing leapt up at him. Like all the previous angles they had examined on this case, there was no evidence of any connection to the disappearance of Lydia or the murder of Diane and her children.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and whirled around. It was Samantha. She was motioning for him to follow her outside.

"What was that about?" he asked her.

"The car. The one that was reported stolen from the parking lot of club Aragon the night of Diane's murder. When we were still onto the ex-husband, I asked NYPD to notify me, if they ever found the car. If found I last night, burnt out at a condemned building site in Harlem. It's been torched, probably dosed with gasoline and them lit up."

"You still want to pursue this?" 

"Might as well. I'm getting a copy of the forensics report. We're still missing the car and the driver who hit Diane Durkin. It wasn't Lydia's car." Sam elaborated. 

"What do you think?" Martin asked.

"Nothing. I don't think we're right on this Christian cult angle. Everyone was helpful, I don't think there is anything going on there. The groups has open meeting, they even gave us a list of their regular members. Doesn't seem to me like they were hiding anything.

"Yeah, you're probably right. Still I just don't see why they both kept it a secret from everyone else. Diane didn't mention it to her mother, Lydia kept it from her husband and her mother. I can't help thinking that there was more going on than just a simple friendship."

"If there was, we don't know. So far we have no evidence that they were involved in something criminal. Even the money we found with Diane has been explained."

"There is still the traces of GHB we found on the money." Samantha considered.

__

FBI Missing Persons Unit, New York City

November 24, 9 a.m.

"Jack, I think we have might have a break. Forensics just called. The found matching finger prints both at the Hutchinson's apartment and at Diane Durkin's house. No match with any prints of their families or known friends. Database? Still running them. Dr. Kirkland from Id paged me. I'm going there right now. Did he say what this was about? Jack asked. It was unusual that they were paged over a simple fingerprints. 

"No, but I guess we are about to find our. " Danny made his way towards to elevator, Jack followed him.

"You know this whole, I just can't see the big picture. It's like we are missing something. Something g that has to do with whatever Lydia was researching." 

"Probably, and she probably paid Diana for something related to that story she was working on. Other than that there is no suspect, Everyone in their families who has a motive has an alibi."

"Yes, we are out of suspect. Hopefully the print will give us a new name."

The print lab was located in what seemed like an underground maze to the initiated. Even after having gotten directions at the receptions, Jack and Danny took several wrong turns before they finally arrived at Dr. Kirkland's office. he was already waiting for them.

"Agent Taylor, Agent Malone." he greeted them, having read their ID tags. "I take it you got lost in your way?" 

"We managed. What did you want to see us about?"

"As I told agent Taylor the print from both scenes are a match, when the technician ran them through the computer, as it is standard procedure, she got a match and printed it out." he paused. 

"Who does the print match?" Jack grew impatient as Dr. Kirkland seemed to be enjoying his little story. He probably didn't get a lot of visitors to the lab.

"I'm getting there. Then she ran the same print again, by mistake, as it was filed twice for ID. A result of both NYPD and you meddling in that case. When she ran it the second time, the computer found a different match. When she compared the report she noticed that the two prints were the same and immediately called me."

"You are sure that it was the same print that she ran."

"She's positive on it. The computer log shows that she ran both and we've compared the prints several times, they identical. We of course went back to the database to double check. Your print matches two people, which you know is impossible."

"So there was a computer glitch?" Danny couldn't believe it. Mistakes like that were the last thing they needed on a case.

"That is near impossible. There is no know history of a mistake with the database. And even if it was corrupted someone then getting two different sets of results would be highly unlikely. We alerted of course the IT specialists to examine the system for any security breaches. But that will take some time."

Danny and Jack were silent, unsure how to react, This was taking an entirely different course from what they had expected. At this moment, they got their glimpse that they might be unto something much bigger than they had previously expected. Jack felt uneasy.

"Until you do find out what went wrong, we need the results both of them." Jack ordered.

"With the questionable legal basis, I'm not sure."

Jack interrupted him: "A six year old girl and her mother are missing. Legal matters are for the court to decided. We need those names." He didn't raise his voice, but his tone was deadly.

"All right, but you won't be able to get a warrant based on those result. As I said it is the first time this has happened."

"We'll worry about that. Thanks you." Danny tried to get himself and Jack out of the room, before ugly scenes ensued. Jack had been short fused all day and this latest development wasn't going to help with that.

"We are running out of time on the Lydia Durkin case. She and her daughter have been missing for thirty-six hours. We managed to track down a print from her house to an address in North Carolina. The print belongs to Markus Feldman, Lydia's first husband. We have been unable to contact him and according to Lydia's mother he might be living in Europe at the moment. Martin and Danny, I want you to follow up on that lead. Fly out there and find out where Mr Feldman was during the last two weeks and where he could be now. Samantha, go over Diane Hutchins disappearance again, maybe we missed something. I know it's a long shot, but I believe that those two cases are connected. Find out about the time Lydia was still married to Markus Feldman, Diane may have met him at some point. If that is the case I want to know about it. Vivian you're with me checking out another lead into Liam Kendall."

None of the team said anything. It was unlike Jack to give orders without giving them all the details, normally he worked as part of the team, rarely pulling rank on any of them. This attitude was new and part of it was certainly due to the stress that this case had put him under. Although the case was getting to all of them, Jack seemed to be especially affected by it. It was starting to affect the atmosphere in the office.

Jack could feel that he wasn't alone in the room. He thought it was Samantha, but when he looked up, he saw Danny standing at the other end of the conference table. He wore an expression of barely contained anger. He didn't wait for him to say anything before he spoke.

"I can't believe you didn't mention to what happened with the prints. How are we supposed to investigate when you don't give us all the information. Ever since this case got started you've been holding out. I don't know what you're up to, but there is something you're not telling us."

"That's not true." Jack replied calmly.

"Okay, if that's you're saying. Listen, I don't care what you and Samantha do on your on time, if you think that's what I'm asking about. But if it is something with some connection to this case, we have to know about it. I can't work on this case if you're keeping me in the dark like that. Think about it." Danny turned away and walked out.

Jack signed. He had never seen Danny like this. Normally, Danny had a grip on himself. The only times when he had seen him loose it was on cases involving excess cruelty towards children. Danny had been holding up very well on this case. But after the case and after having been shot at, he might just be overreacting as a consequence. Jack decided to take care of Danny later. He knew that he was walking a thin line. But it was the only option. The minute the computer error had popped up, a bell had gone off inside his head. Maybe he was being paranoid, but there were too many oddities. Them getting the case in the first place, no one talking at club, the threats he had been getting ever since the case started. Something told him that this was organized, not by a single person. The potential implications were huge. The fewer people who knew about it the better for the moment. The decision hadn't been easy. He was putting lives in danger either way. But without proof or even tangible evidence, there was nothing he could do really to get out of this situation. 

When he returned to the main office, Danny's jacket was gone from the rack. He had clearly gone home for the day. He had been out of line, even if he had had a point, that must have been obvious even to him. Jack had no choice but to go on. Liam Kendall was the one connection they had between the murder of one woman and the disappearance of another. Samantha was sitting at her desk, but when she noticed him, she got up.

"Jack, can I have a word with you?"

"Sure." Jack didn't look forward to this. After his confrontation with Danny just minutes ago, this was the last thing he wanted. He started to fear that maybe he was about to make a huge mistake.

"I'm back in the field. But all you do is assign me to do office jobs. I know that those have to be done, but there are plenty of people who can run those checks. Let me go to North Carolina."

"Samantha, I just think that it might be too early. What if things get difficult there?"

"I'm trained to handle difficult situation. It's what I do. At least what I used to do" She added the last part in a small voice.

This had been coming for a few days now. He knew that Sam wasn't happy with how he had been treating her on this case. After the confrontation with Danny he had to assign someone else to Martin anyways.

"All right. You're going with Martin." he said in a resigned tone. He was drained and felt like it was all going over his head. He should be in charge and should know what was going on, but he just felt lost and exhausted. The case didn't make any sense, someone was threatening them or playing a joke on them and things with Maria were at an all time low. It was all falling apart around him. Tired, he got himself a cup of coffee to at least chase away the physical fatigue. Whether it would uplift his spirits was another matter. When he came back in Vivian was already waiting for him.

"What's up with Danny? I saw him leave, he didn't look good." Vivian asked, apparently not having witnessed the exchange with Samantha.

"He wasn't feeling well, he's gone home." Jack lied, not even feeling very bad about it. His own cold bloodedness surprised him.

Vivian gave him a look, but let it pass. "I looked through property records. Liam Kendall might never had held a job or paid taxes, but he own several properties around town. Aside from the cottage, he has an apartment in Brooklyn. I found out about it when I checked with city gas and water companies.."

"He might still live there. I say we pay him a visit. Have social services contacted him because of his brother?"

"No, they didn't have his address. It's not registered in any city directory and he doesn't seem to have a phone."

"I'm going down there to check it out." Jack said.

"I'm with you."


	7. 6

__

Disclaimer etc in Chapter 1

A/N: Again I didn't have the chance to have this proofread so proceed at your own risk. Another word of warning, I took a few creative liberties with regard to FBI procedures, New York City geography and the science of bomb making.

Streets of New York City

November 24, 10.30 a.m.

Danny's anger cooled down as soon as he stepped out of the building. The bustling city and the cold wind sweeping the streets seemed to have a strangely soothing effect. The conversation he had just had with Jack replayed in his mind as we walked down the street towards Central Park. Now as he heard himself say the words over again, he started to doubt that he had approached this the right way. He was still convinced that Jack was wrong and that someone had to tell him about it before it was to late. He only feared that the matter on which he had chosen to do so had not been effective. He had let his emotions get the better of him. He should have tried to make a cooler, well reasoned statement. What he had done had be wildly out of line. He winced as he thought about the possible professional repercussions. He wasn't ambitious. Climbing up the FBI career ladder was not a goal he had in mind for himself. He had long learned that the real accomplishments in life were of a different nature.

He pulled his jacket closer as an icy wind swept down the street. He couldn't just leave like that, storming out of the office. Jack would have no problem assigning someone else to fly out to North Carolina. Jack would go on with his risky gamble. Danny sighed. He had always thought of the team as a closely knit unit of professionals who were working well together. Everyone had their secrets, he was no exceptions, but they hadn't let them interfere with work, until now. Somehow the hostage situation in the bookstore had been a catalyst.

__

Brightwood Apartment Complex Office of the Building Manager, New York City

November 24, 2 p.m.

The drive downtown was surprisingly quick, the afternoon rush had not yet started as they drove to the apartment complex. After getting the key from the building manager they went up to the apartment. Pretty much as expected no one inside reacted to their repeated knocking on the thin wooden door. Both upholstered their weapons as Jack proceeded to unlock the door, unsure what they were going to encounter inside. What they found was certainly one of the last things they would have guessed to find. The apartment was empty. Not a piece of furniture, nothing, just dust and dirty. But the layer of dust was thin, the apartment could not have been vacated too long ago. Jack and Vivian split up to take a closer look at the different rooms. The apartment was in quite good condition. The paint on the walls looked like it had been renewed recently. However the paintjob could hardly have been done by an expert. Splatters of white paint were clearly visible on the hardwood floor. Homemade job. Someone who left an apartment in the middle of night as it appeared didn't go to all the trouble to repaint the walls unless they had good reason for it. For example to hide something on the wall, such as blood spatter.

Vivian joined him in the room.

"Jack, I found something in the bathroom. It looks like blood spatter. They did a good clean up job, but I think they missed a few spots."

"I was thinking the same thing. The walls weren't repainted to make them look better, someone was covering up something here."

Jack followed Vivian into the bathroom were she pointed out the tiny brownish dots under the sink. They looked like dried blood indeed.

"We have the get the CSI team over here." Jack said. "Now we know that Liam Kendall is into this somehow. His cottage is at the end of the road next to which Diane was dumped, his brother takes a shot at Samantha and Danny and in his townhouse we find blood. We need to talk to Mr. Kendall."

"I agree. Maybe the manager can tell us when was the last time he saw him."

Jack proceeded to call in the forensics team while they returned to the mangers office on the ground floor. Vivian rang the bell.

"What is it again?" the unnerved man asked them immediately after opening the door.

"There is no one living in the apartment. Can you tell us where we could find Mr. Kendall?" Vivian asked.

"I don't know where he lives and frankly I couldn't care less, as long as he keeps on paying the rent. That's more than a lot of people do around here." he replied, not very interested in the fact that one of his tenants had disappeared.

"When was the last time you saw Mr. Kendall?"

"Actually, just saw him yesterday. He asked me to drive a couple of boxes to storage for him. Said he was going away to Europe or Canada, can't remember. Gave me three hundred cash and the rent for the next six months. I didn't ask any questions, you understand?" he lit a cigarette.

"Do you have the address of the storage?"

"Should have it around here somewhere, got a receipt." The landlord went back inside and they heard him rummage through drawers. After he few minutes he emerged, holding a crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

"Here, that's the receipt."

The storage facility wasn't far from the house. They got a key from the attendant and then proceeded to Mr. Kendall's vault.

He flipped through the manila folder. Tax returns from the last five years. Receipts for electronic appliances. A death certificate. Liam Kendall. Died February 14, 2000. Cause of death, heart attack. The storage unit had been rented in in March 2000. Only a last name had been on the lease form. An heir could have rented it. But that would contradict the fact that Liam was acting as guarding for his mentally handicapped brother. 

"Look at that. " He showed Vivian the document.

Vivian scanned it, obviously thinking the same as he did.

"It looks authentic to the naked eye. But it has to be a forgery, otherwise his prints wouldn't be in Lydia's or Diane's apartment." She shook her head.

Jack thought about Markus Feldman, who seemed to be the same man as Liam Kendall. Feldman had ties to Europe, at least that was what his former mother in law had claimed. Had Feldman come back to the US and murdered his ex-wife? If so, he didn't see any motive. Maybe Diane had been an accident, Lydia had somehow learned about this and then Kendall or Feldman or whatever his real name was had killed her to silence her. But in that case, why had Diane been shot in the head after having been hit by the car and what had she been doing on her way to Kendall's cottage in the first place. Too many questions and too few answer. It seemed like this case was like a hydra, for every question they answered, three new ones popped up. And there was still the question of the threats he had been getting. He had to tell Vivian about the finger prints. He was starting to see that he had made a mistake in not being up front about everything with his team from the start. What had started as an effort to protect Samantha was turning into a disaster that might eventually cost him his job if this case ever went to trial. Because then everything he had done and not done would be public and the only thing people were going to see was that the FBI or rather he had screwed up.

"Anything else in here?" Jack asked, consciously putting a halt to the rotating thoughts.

"Just junk. I can't figure why anyone would pay to store it. Especially if Kendall,, or whoever the man the manager knows as Liam Kendall, was going to leave for good then it would be better for him to just get rid of everything that might give him away. " Vivian shook her head.

"I think we need to dig deeper, into Feldman. If he left the US for an extended period of time as Lydia's mother claims we might find something." Vivian said, ready to leave the cold storage vault.

He walked out into the parking lot, the cold air hitting him in face. His mind was still in the apartment, going over what they had learned. Technically, as far as they knew, a dead man had abducted Lydia and her daughter. Since that couldn't be, the only conclusions was that he wasn't dead. Witness protection maybe? But then there shouldn't have been a glitch in the system, they were far too through for that. It had to be something else. The whole case was like that, a puzzle, but with every new piece uncovered the final picture appeared to become only more obscure. They were flying blind in this investigation, It was as if they were trying to built a wall, but the bottom row of bricks was missing. Until those were there the wall would invariably collapse again. But he didn't even have an idea as to what the missing piece that connected the players in this case might be.

"Jack." Vivian's voice yanked him back to the parking lot.

"Sorry" he realized that she's waiting for him to unlock the car and get in. He got out his key chain and used the keyless remote to unlock the car doors.

Then his world was torn apart, top and bottom lost their meaning and merge into one as sound and light exploded into pain and blackness.

The air was on fire, every breath burnt in his lungs. He coughed, sending waves of pain down his back. He couldn't hear anything save for the ringing of a thousands bells in his head. His back, elbows and knee hurt. There was something sticky on his face. His hand found his face somehow and tried to wipe away the wetness, causing pain and a sharp burning sensation. He opened his eyes and looked at his hand. Blood was smeared on his fingers from where he had tried to wipe his face. There was something wrong. His mind couldn't keep up with it. Why was he on the ground? Where was he on the ground? What was going on here? The sounds of nearing sirens pierced through the ringing in his ears. He struggled to sit up, in spite of the painful protestations from his back.

"Are you all right, Sir?" a voice asked him from behind. Not a familiar voice.

"Yeah." He pushed himself up to get into a standing position. Had it not been for a pair of hands steadying him, he would have fallen right back to the ground again. He started to take in his surroundings. The parking lot, he recalled having parked there on their way to the apartment. They had been chasing some sort of lead. He looked around. Smoke filled the air, the stench of burning plastic was everywhere. The concrete ground was littered with pieces of debris, glass, metal. The remains of their government issue Sedan were standing there, black and smouldering. The memories all came back, in a flood like rush. He spun around. To his great relief he saw Vivian sitting over by the ambulance with a paramedic. A group of onlookers had already gathered around the parking lot which had been taped off by the police.

"Come with me, we need to have a look at you." The reassuring voice of the EMT was back. 

Slowly his head stopped spinning, gradually tuning back in with the rest of the world, as the EMT had a look at the cuts on his face.

"I don't think you're going to need stitches for any of those. They're not too deep. You got luck with all that glass flying around." She finished applying a butterfly bandage.

"Does anything else hurt, your head, your chest?"

"No, I'm fine." He reassured her. In fact he had a slight headache, but nothing too serious. He felt oddly well considering the circumstances. He could have been killed, had be been actually close to the car when it exploded. But by random chance, he had used the remote key chain. But even then, the explosion would have been more deadly. The most lethal things on explosion wasn't the fire, it was the shockwave with the potential to cause massive damage to internal organs. He had seen bomb victims with hardly a scratch on their skins, but bleed to death from internal injuries.

"Are you sure? It would be best to take you to the ER to get checked out."

Before he could reply, he spotted a familiar figure walking towards him and the ambulance. Van Doran was walking across the scene. The expression on her face was somewhere between anger and determination.

She showed her badge to the EMT and only acknowledged Jack with a nod.

"How are agents Malone and Johnson?" she addressed the EMT who was tending to Jack.

"Cuts, abrasions and bruises. I don't think they suffered any internal injuries but we'd have to run more test at the hospital to be absolutely sure." The EMT summarised.

"I'll just have to ask them a few questions, then you can take them to the hospital."

She tuned to hi for the first time.

"What happened?"

"A suspect in the kidnapping of Lydia Atkinson had stored property here. We went in, but all we found was indication that the suspect was already dead. We found his death certificate insight. His heirs probably stored his property. There was nothing of value there. Furniture, some books. When we came out of the building. I didn't notice anything suspicion. When I unlocked the car with the remote, the bomb, I assume, went off." Jack was trying to gather the facts together in spite of his brains resistance to revisit those memories. He shook his head.

"That's it?" she sounded accusatory.

"Yes."

"How long where you in the building?"

"Maybe thirty minutes. No longer than that."

"Anything else?"

"No, nothing that I can recall at the moment." His head had started spinning. He must have had hit his head harder then he thought, or those fumes most have gotten to him.

"Okay, that's it for now. I'm going to need your reports asap." She gave a fake smile.

He couldn't blame her for being curt. An attempt on the lives two FBI agents was serious, and it was political. The press was quick to call it terrorism, possible setting off an outbreak of civil panic. Every step of such an investigation was under scrutiny from both inside and outside. A mine field that was close to impossible to navigate

__

Roadside somewhere in rural North Carolina

November 24, 2 p.m.

The car came to a sharp halt when the dirt road suddenly ended. 

"Where are we?" Samantha glanced around, seeing nothing bit foliage.

"I'm not exactly sure." Martin pulled out the map out of the glove compartment and unfolded it.

Samantha watched his efforts which were clearly not going anywhere any time soon.

Give me the map, she ordered, turning it around trying to located the starting point. "We left from here, about five hours ago." She pointed to the small town which looked far more impressive on the map than it had in actual reality.

"I know where we started, the question is where are we now."

"We passed a river about an hour ago. It might be this one here." She traced the blue line on the map. It was far off from where they had intended to go.

"Fantastic, we took a wrong turn four hours ago."

"It wasn't my idea." he retorted.

Indeed it had not been. With the map not being of much use the had stopped at a gas station, not only for a refill but also to ask direction. Although the attendant had clearly been drinking and didn't seem to awake, he had provided them with instructions on how to get to Markus Feldman's property. Confidently they had sat out to the estate of their suspect. Now half a day later, they were in the middle of nowhere.

"I told you that the directions sounded wrong to me."

"You said, that there might be a more direct route. That is something entirely different. But the guy was so far above the legal limit we would have found it quicker with the map."

Tempers were running high, not only was the lull in the investigation unsatisfying and frustrating, but only meant a loss of value able time. They were in a gambling with the lives of a mother and her daughter. By taking on their job they imposed this responsibility on themselves, to do all they could to find the victims before the were killed. They didn't always stand a chance in this race. Sometimes, they were dead before they were reported missing, But fortunately that was the minority of their cases. Usually there was something they could do to find the person alive. Neither of them needed to say it, they both knew it and it was irate them.

"This is going to go down as the least productive day in FBI history." Samantha commented grimly. "The daily report should turn out interesting."

"It's going to be a late dinner. I'm going to drive back." Martin said, ignoring her remark.

"Okay. But only because I'm tired." Samantha conceded and moved over to the passenger seat. She was tired, hardly any day had seemed so long. 

They made a U turn and headed back.

Not having to focus on driving anymore Samantha run the scene at the gas station through her head again. They had gotten a refill, then had gone inside to pay and Martin had picked up a sandwich and a can of soda. The attendant had seemed a bit odd. And not just odd, as in a drunk. No, they would he had reacted to them, as if he had known they were coming. He had been afraid. But then again, the shaking hands could just be a symptom of long term alcohol abuse. But he had been very firm in the directions. Much more coherent than in anything else he had said. Sand it had taken him several tries to punch in the prices of their purchases into the cash register. All those little bits combined like mosaic stones into a picture. She didn't quite know what that pictures was, there were too many piece missing, but it instilled a feeling of uneasiness. She couldn't quite shake the impression that something was wrong. But just a feeling wasn't enough in her profession. Intuition went a long way and was crucial to her work, without it she wouldn't be able to do it. Often the first impression made them look deeper. But truth was too that intuition alone was good for nothing, least of all for a warrant. Besides her suspicion was not even related to the case. The lead was pretty vague as it was and the gas station attendant had no motive to lie to them, plus he had been drunk and probably was an alcoholic. She, she must be going paranoid after all, she decided. Paranoid of not, the though would not leave her alone.

"Martin, did the attendant seem odd to you? As if he knew he was lying to us about the direction?" She felt silly the moment she had asked the question, even though it was valid to explore all possible avenues in an investigation.

"I don't know. He did seem very sure about what he was saying. But I didn't really see a motive, but someone could have told him to lie. Would probably not be too hard to convince him. But if it was our guy then how would he know that we are on to him? It's a long way from the city to here. We can ask him again tomorrow." Martin shrugged, tired and hungry as well.

__

Richter and Associates Law Firm, New York City

November 24, 5.45 p.m.

Maria heard the knock at the door, but had no time to react to it because the door was opened immediately. Her assistant stood in the door frame, her face flushed.

"Maria, I think there is something on TV that you should see." Janet seemed positively alarmed and upset. Uneasy, Maria followed her out into the break room were the TV was set to a newscast.

__

Earlier this afternoon, about two hours ago, a bomb explosion shocked the city. The car of two FBI Agents reportedly investigating a local missing persons case exploded while in a parking lot. It is unclear whether anyone was injured in the explosion or what might have been the cause.

Pictures of a smoke filled parking lot, bustling with law enforcement and rescue personnel flashed across the screen.

__

So far no arrests have been made and the FBI has not yet given any official statement as to what happened. Speculations are that this may an act of terrorism. An official statement is expected later tonight. This was Kylie Jones with BTV.

Two hours ago. Why had no one from the FBI called her so far? Did that mean that Jack was all right? But then why had he not called her? He must know that a car bomb targeting two FBI agents would be all over the news. Hopefully the girls hadn't seen this. Briefly, her fear for Jack mixed with anger towards him, But she had to know, she needed to find out what had happened, no matter how painful the news was going to be. For a moment, when she was preparing to take the receiver and dial, all the adversity, the hurt feelings and the discord between her and jack were forgotten, the miserable years, the suspicions and the hurt feelings momentarily erased. Jack was once again the man she had married, the man she loved and couldn't stand to loose. She raced over to the phone her hands shaking his she dialled the number of Jack's cell phone. An eternity passed before it was picked up on the third ring.

"Jack?" she asked even though she recognized the voice.

"Yes, what's going on Maria?" he sounded tired.

A pause, an sharp exhale.

"I saw it on the news, about the car bomb. I had no idea what had happened. Whether you were okay-"

"I'm okay. No one was seriously hurt luckily. I'm sorry, I didn't think it would be on the news." The extend of what Maria had told him was just sinking in. He couldn't image her reaction to having seen the news reports, not knowing that nobody had been hurt.

"A car bomb blowing up the car of two FBI agents, it's on the news all over the country. What were you thinking?"

"I'm really sorry. I hope the kids didn't see anything about. But a lot is going on here, I didn't have "

"I'm glad that you're okay. " Maria interrupted him, her voice hurt. "I'll be picking the girls up." She hung up.

It was the same as always. It hadn't even entered into jack's mind that his family might be worried about him when the heard the news reports. She closed the file on the table. It was late and there was no way she could concentrate on her work now. She decided to leave for the day and take her work home with her in the hopes of getting some more done that evening. Chances were that Jack wouldn't come home for a while and the inevitable argument would take place either after midnight or not at all. In which case both would just swallow up their hurt feelings. It was an inescapable cycle in which they both had been trapped for years, as she had lately come to realize.

Jack stared at the phone. It had never occurred to him to call Maria. He could go easy on himself, attribute it to the shock and the blow to the head he had suffered in the explosion. Maybe that was even true or at least a mitigating factor, But at the heart of the matter, it was a question of his priorities. In a moment of conscious choice he would have called Maria, but his instinctive reaction had been different. He knew that part of what she had said, had been out of the emotional tension that accompanied worry.

Maria was right, the report could wait until tomorrow. There was nothing to do for him at work, that wouldn't still be there tomorrow. The forensic reports on the bombing wouldn't be in for at least twelve more hours. He closed the file, just as his cell phone rang again.

"Malone."

"It's Sam. I saw about the explosion in the news. Are you and Viv all right?" she sounded out of breath, her voice a little bit shaky.

"A bit bruised, but we got lucky. The experts suspect that the detonator might have malfunctioned. Otherwise we wouldn't have stood a chance." his answer had an undercurrent of terror.

"Thank God, you're okay." She breathed a sigh of relief. What is van Doran going to do?"

"For the moment, we stay on the case. So far there has been no confession to the attempt, It might not even be connected to the case, terrorism, someone who has a problem with the FBI. The list of suspects is pretty long. We have to wait for the report. How are things going?"

"They're going no where so far. Apparently Feldman's estate is very remote. We didn't manage to find it yet, it's not on the maps of the area. We're going to talk to the nearest local FBI office tomorrow. But they haven't taken a look, figured I'd better not to draw any attention to us."

"Good work. Keep me updated."

"We will. Jack, I'm really glad that you're okay. Bye."

"Bye."

Unlike the earlier conversation, he had a smile on his face when he hung up.

It was different, he reminded himself. His responsibility towards Samantha was different. He was under no obligation to call her. But still there had been something different. Maria had lashed out at him in anger. Anger that was fuelled by concern, but still. 

It was uncanny how the two conversation had been so similar and yet so different. 

__

White Pines Motel, North Carolina

November 24, 6 p.m.

Samantha put down the receiver, feeling more relived than ever,. No that wasn't true. When she had first seen Jack after the Barry Mashburn incident, and had realized that he was all right, the relief have been even greater. Still, she suddenly felt almost giddy, The rush of emotion paired with the sudden shock when the images of the explosion and the burning car had filled the television screen and that terrible second when she had realized whose car had been blown up, had left her oddly drained and restless at the same time. She took a hot, long shower, and then sat down at the desk spreading out the case materials in front of her. She had planned on taking her mind of Jack by going over the facts of the case again. But the endeavour was doomed. She couldn't focus, the lines danced in front of her eyes and the images from TV intruded on her mind with persistence. hearing Jack's voice on the phone had been reassurance that he was all right, but at the same time it had made her realize just how attached she still was to him and what an impact losing him would have on her, even though she knew that she could never be with him. She shut the file on her table and went over to the bed. The though of sleep seemed impossible right now. She had far too much nervous energy for that right now. Although she was already in her nightgown after having taken a shower, she got dressed again. She needed fresh air and she needed to walk. She tucked her gun into the holster and out it on. Even though she wasn't on duty, it had become a habit for her not to leave the house unarmed. She used to feel empowered in a way carrying her gun. That feeling had worn off considerably ever since she had been shot with that very gun when she had been a hostage in the bookstore. 

__

Vivian Johnson's apartment, New York City

November 24, 6.30 p.m.

Melvin Johnson was in the kitchen, cooking dinner for himself and his son Reggie. Since Vivian wasn't working regular hours, it was him who normally took care of household tasks during the week. When the door rang, he supposed that Vivian had simply forgotten her key. he was already glad that she was coming home early for a chance after a series of late nights at the office. When he looked through the door, he saw an unfamiliar man, who proceeded to show him a badge identifying him as an FBI agent. A cold wave of fear ran down his spine. Had something happened to Vivian? Why were they sending an agent? He opened the door.

"Mr. Johnson? I'm Agent Taylor, I work with your wife."

"Is Vivian all right?"

"Yes. I wanted to talk to you in person before you saw it on the news." Danny couldn't think of one way to say this without alarming Vivian's husband more than necessary.

"Why what's going on?" Melvin was panicking now, but still trying to keep his voice down to avoid alerting Reggie.

"Calm down, Sir. Vivian is okay. There was an explosion this afternoon. We're not sure what happened yet. It might have been a bomb. But Vivian is all right. She wasn't injured. They are merely taking her to the hospital to make sure that she's really okay."

"Oh my God. Is there any way I can contact her?"

"Nor for the moment, I'm afraid. But she should be over here pretty soon. I also need to talk to her briefly, regarding the investigation into the explosion." Danny fabricated a half-lie, feeling bad about it.

"Come in. Thank you for telling me in person." He let Danny in and seated him at the kitchen table before tending to his cooking which was sending alarming clouds of smoke into the air, filling the room with the stench of burnt food. Danny opened the window to let in some fresh air while Melvin doused the pan with water.

"Man that smells. What are you doing there, Dad?" Reggie had come into the kitchen.

"Something burned. We'll just have sandwiches for dinner." his father replied absentmindedly, obviously still processing the news he had just received.

"Reggie, go back to you room and finish your homework, okay? I'll call you when dinner is ready." Melvin addressed Reggie.

Making a face, Reggie went back into his room.

Melvin was vigorously scraping the burnt pan, trying to get out the remnants of the burnt meat and vegetables.

"I'm sorry that this is such a mess. I simply forgot about the pan on the stove."

"Not a problem. Just soak it in water and it'll be easier to clean later." Danny suggested.

"Of course you're right. I wasn't thinking." Melvin out down the pan and joined Danny at the table. In that moment, they heard a key being turned in the door look. The door was pushed open and Vivian entered. She didn't look very well, scrapes on her face and her suit was dusty and torn in places, but there was no sign of serious injury. Her eyes wandered from Melvin to Danny, then back again.

"Vivian, are you all right?"

"Yes."

"Thank God." Melvin hugged his wife. "I'm so glad that you're fine.

"Me too."

Danny felt ill at ease and out of place. Maybe coming here had not been such a good idea. The Johnson's probably had other concerns right now.

Vivian hung what was left of her coat over a chair, sat down and poured herself a glass of water. She looked questioningly over at Danny, as if she had only now fully taken in his presence in her living room.

"Your colleague was informing me about what happened." Melvin explained in his place.

"Yeah, there is also something I need to talk to you about. But it can wait until tomorrow." he hastily added. Truth was that it was already too late, he should have spoken up much sooner, but he didn't want to put pressure on Vivian tonight after what she had just been trough. he couldn't even image what she must be feeling. He himself could still feel the chill that had followed the shoot out at the cottage and this event had not even come close to what had happened now.

"No, it's okay. Melvin, maybe you and Reggie can go out an get dinner. It's probably better if you talk to him first."

"Sure, I'll see you later."

After Melvin and Reggie had left, Vivian turned to Danny.

"Are you on the case? I thought you'd gone home ill."

"No. But there is something I need to talk to you about. I know it's a good time, but I don't think it can wait."

__

Jack Malone's apartment, New York City

November 24, 11.45 p.m.

Maria was just looking at him. Her eyes were red, she had been crying. He hadn't seen her cry in a long time, the last time when her mother had died a few years ago. The kids? Horrifying images generated by his imagination started racing through his mind. No, she would have called him if anything had happened to them. He tried to calm down his racing thoughts.

"Maria?" He asked, setting down his briefcase and walking over to the table.

"Why didn't you tell me that you've been threatened?" Maria asked him her voice shaking. "Two FBI investigators were here this evening, they are investigating the bombing. They told me that you've been receiving threatening notes at work, they wanted to know whether I'd received some as well. I had no idea what was going on. How could you not tell me about this? I need to know things like that."

He sat down, suddenly feeling his headache return.

Maria took another sip of tea, her hands trembling slightly.

"Then today, you nearly got killed and don't even bother to tell me that you're all right. I didn't even know you were still alive. You can shut me out all you want. But when the girls are affected then I need to know about this. I can't believe it." She shook her head, rising her cup again to take another sip.

"Maria", he put his hand on her arm.

"I'm sorry, with all that commotion after the car bomb." he swallowed hard. "The threats were unspecific, I had them given the notes to forensics. I didn't think it was a good idea to worry you or the girls with this." 

He got up and got himself an aspirin from the medicine cabinet, the pounding in his head seemed to get worse by the minute. When he come back into the kitchen, Maria was turned towards him.

"Jack, I can't do this anymore. I simply can't. I think we need to rethink what we are doing. Look the facts in the eye. Maybe you have been to wrapped up in work to notice, but we are falling apart." She sat down her cup and walked out of the room past him.

He just sat there, watching the aspirin dissolve in the glass of water. The entire scene was surreal, he was merely a spectator to this drama and yet at the same time he was cast for one of the main parts. The entire day seemed to have taken week. When he had gotten up this morning the world had looked so different than it had now. It seemed improbably that only eighteen hours had passed and yet so much had happened. He wasn't sure he could keep it all together. This case, his marriage, his team. It was all falling apart, Truth was it had been for a while, only this case had been a catalyst in a way. It brought out the worst in them. Emotions were mixing with the work because of the horrors they were confronted with and because they were personally a target in this case. That much had become clear when the bomb exploded It hadn't just been empty threats.


	8. 7

Disclaimer etc in the first Chapter

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. Again creative liberties were taken with regard to FBI procedure.

Apartment of Vivian Johnson, New York City

November 25, 5.45 a.m.  


Vivian had gotten up as usual, even though there was nothing routine an normal about today. She wasn't coming going to work today. And she wouldn't return until the case was over with. Jack and Van Doran would have received and read the letters by now. It was within her rights, to withdraw from an investigation when she felt that she was acting against protocol. She had to keep telling herself that she had made the best choice., It was not a choice that had come lightly and it had certainly not been the way she wanted to handle this. But Jack had left her no other choice. Taking a leave was, short of reporting Jack to Van Doran, the only option when reason had failed. But she was already doubting herself. What if she had only put the others in danger, something she could have avoided if she had taken her complaint to Van Doran. She was sure that Van Doran would have seen her point and taken immediate action. She didn't doubt the motive behind her decision, it was the route she had taken that had caused her a restless night.  
She heard her husband coming into the kitchen. She knew it was him without having to look up. 

  
"Vivian. You're up already? Is everything all right at work?"

  
She turned around, ware of the strange impression she must be giving. She was dressed for work, sitting at the table, looking out at the buzzing city.  
She kept work and private life strictly separated, her husband very well knew that. It was the only sane choice one in such a demanding profession could make, otherwise the balance wouldn't work. She had seen that happen quite often , she saw it every day in Jack. He had placed his job over his family for years and while not wanting to draw and conclusions, she could not avoid seeing the connection between the two. She wanted to avoid ever being into his position, but realized that this might just be a vain hope. Fact was that she spend only little time with her husband and her son, even though she tried to make then most of it, it might just not be enough, According to society it certainly wasn't. Popular view dictated that she was setting her son up for failure and delinquency, by working fourteen hours every day.

  
"I'm fine." She replied, consciously avoiding the actual question.  
Melvin knew not to pry any further.  
Maybe that was already the first stone, from her family coming apart. That Melvin knew to stop asking when her job was involved. It was for the best, but on the other hand, it meant excluding him from a significant part of her life. Melvin pulled up a chair and sat down next to her at the table, not starting to make breakfast, as she had expected him to do.

  
"Vivian." He waited for her to look up. "Talk to me, what's going on? Someone tries to kill you yesterday, today your not going to work, tell me what's going on. I deserve to know about this. This concerns all of us."

  
He was right, she had only said the most necessary things about the car bomb. All she had told him was that neither she nor her co-worker had been hurt and that they were still investigating the incident. She had not told her husband more than the TV report had said, She could not image how she would have reacted in his position. She never thought she would have to. Had he? He might have. How did he handle the risk that she was facing everyday?

  
"I've withdrawn from the case that we're working on. I didn't think I could continue with the investigation and still do the right thing. I've taken a couple of days of leave."

  
"Because of what happened yesterday?"

  
"That's part of it", she replied admitting for the first time what until now she hadn't been really aware of. She had not permitted herself to be scared, to feel the shock of the bombing. But it was there, the emotional impact had occurred and no amount of denial could change that.

  
"The bomb didn't detonate right, part of the explosive never went off. That's why we got away, we were far to close to survive a full on blast. Might have been luck, might have been intentional." She blurted out, not sure to whom she was talking, to herself or her husband  


"Oh my God. He got up, putting his arms around her from behind, I'm so sorry. I had no idea what didn't you tell me. All you said that your car blew up in the parking lot." 

  
"Jack used the remote to open the door, that's when it happened."

"And you weren't hurt, you said."  


"Bruises, nothing serious. She reassured him. They wanted to have us checked out at the hospital but then let us go. It can't have been that bad.  
How do you feel?"

  
"Fine, I feel fine." She replied, somewhat puzzled as he had already asked her before

  
"That's not what I meant and you know it", He said softly. "Did you get any sleep last night at all? I heard you turn and toss around."

  
"Not much", she said honestly. "I just couldn't get to rest. I guess it's the adrenaline wearing off."

  
"Why don't you get back to bed and try to get some more rest. I'll get Reggie ready for school. You don't have to work today and you can use some rest. You look like you're about to fall asleep."

  
"All right", she conceded. 

  
"We'll talk when I get back from school. Now, go!" He said in a commanding tone, half joking with a mock stern face.  


__

FBI Missing Persons Office, New York City

November 25, 9 a.m.

It was a surprise to himself how he had managed to drive to work without getting pulled over or cause a traffic accident. He hadn't sleep at all the previous night. Between guilt, anger and thee in the morning pondering about where his marriage had gone wrong, how they had gone from wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, from barely speaking to each other, only hanging on out of indifference and because of their daughters. Every muscle seemed to be aching, remind him of his encounter with concrete and glass the previous afternoon. Normally, he would have considered taking a day of sick leave but the prospect of being a prisoner in his apartment was more unappealing than dragging himself to work and facing the fallout of the previous day's events. He had tried reaching Samantha or Martin on their cell phones, but only got through to their mail boxes, They probably had them tuned off during a stake-out. For once he was glad that he had paperwork to do. It was something to keep his mind off things and on the same time didn't harm his sore muscles any further.

He immediately noticed the two letters and several files on his desk. The vacant apartment that had been leased under the alias Liam Kendall had been processed. The spatter Vivian had found there was indeed human blood. A DNA test showed that it matched Lydia and an unknown person. Among the reports was also the preliminary notes contained the preliminary forensics report on the bomb, with a note that the full processing of the evidence at the scene was going to take another 48 hours.

According to what the lab had found the bomb had been assembled quite professionally, using military type explosive, definitely not what you could easily made in your garage. Someone had had the right equipment. But still the bomb had been faulty according the report because there had only been partial detonation. In fact, had the bomb been built expertly, they wouldn't have stood a chance at the short distance they were at. Mistake or yet another warning. Not that it made a difference, they were alive. But if it was just a mistake then more would follow. 

The letter contained a note from Vivian informing him that she had taken a couple of days leave due to personal reasons with regard to the case. After their experience with the car bomb, this was not too surprising, but the fact that she had not told him so in person, or at least on the phone. After all, he and Vivian had known each other for a long time and he had always known her to speak her mind. Then it dawned on him. He was stunned. Should he have seen it coming. She had made it very clear that she didn't approve of his methods during the investigation, be had not seen any indication that she would go that far. Or had he maybe just not wanted to hear about it? He was loosing touch with all the people on his life, with his co-workers, with his wife, with Sam. It was all spinning out of control and he couldn't only sit there and watch it happen. He hadn't been willing to concede that he had made mistakes on that case last night, but as he reread Vivian's statement doubts started creeping up on him. Danny, Vivian, Van Doran. He was loosing his touch. But he was in it and he couldn't walk away from this case, the life of a five year old girl and her mother were in the game, he owed it to them, it was juts job to do all he could to find them, and he wouldn't give up. He would deal with Vivian and Maria later. The victims needed his mind on the case, he remind himself. If he couldn't keep his personal problems out of it, he might just hand in his badge right away. So he placed the letter into his desk and started to open the second letter. He had not yet unfolded the piece of paper when Danny came in. He had seen Danny working on something when he had come in earlier in the morning. After their altercation the previous day, he had not been to eager to talk to him, especially after the car bomb had underlined that Danny might have had a point. He had been right about him making a mistake in not taking the threats and the fingerprints seriously. But Danny didn't mention their argument, he had new regarding the case which jack had almost forgotten with everything that had happened in the oast twenty-four hours.

"Jack, I looked into the connection between Kendall and Feldman. I didn't find anything connecting the two aside from their fingerprints being identical. But I did find out that it was Kendall who reported the car theft at Club Aragon the night that Diane was there before she died. Now, the car that forensics found yesterday was his. Samantha had requested the forensics' report. Damage to their car is consistent with a frontal impact to a person and the paint from the car matches the car's paint."

Jack took a second to take in the piece of information. It was the first real break through, the first time that they had been able to connect a name to a criminal act.

"So we can get a warrant against Kendall for the hit and run." Jack said, having in mind the shaky legal basis of their fingerprint data.

__

White Pines Motel, rural North Carolina 

November 25, 6 a.m.

Armed with a map and more detailed directions form the local sheriff, Sam and Martin set out again after breakfast. After their failed attempt the previous day which had cost the precious time, they were both tense and frustrated. Their second attempt to fine the suspect's home better be successful. Even though they were prepared this time, the whether conditions had turned to their disadvantage. The previous day had been a sunny day, more like a call October day than the late November day that it had been. Today, what had started out as a morning with an overcast sky had turned into heavy rain with violent wind blowing. If they were unlucky they might actually have a storm on their hands by the afternoon. The rain which seemed to fall almost sideways made vision difficult, allowing them to see only a few meter ahead. The sudden rush of water had flooded the road, slowly turning the gravel road on which they had turned two hours ago into a slippery swamp. They could only hope that there would be no traffic coming down the road from the other direction. In this kind of weather an accident was just waiting to happen as any braking manoeuvre would be difficult with the car threatening to slip out of control.

Martin was aware of this, driving slowly, keeping down to 30 mph. The only noise were the engine, was the rain pounding on the car's metal roof. Sam had not argued when Martin had taken the key and get in at the driver's side without even asking. She had been annoyed, but had bit back an acerbic comments on her mind, Patience was wearing thin in both of them. She could literally sense the it, the tension between them war palpable. The last thing she wanted was to provoke an argument now or provide more fuel to the train that Martina and Jack seemed to be riding, according to them she was on the verge of a nervous break down. The last thing she needed was another comment or sympathetic gesture regarding her allegeable mental instability. One more patronizing look or understanding word and she might just really snap, lashing out involuntarily. She wished they'd just stop treating her like she was a victim, not a professional capable of looking out for herself. But worse than the reaction of her co-.workers was knowing that they were right on target. That was they real reason why they hurt her with their kind words her and why every look seemed to burn her skin, why every caring question stung deeply. She had never felt less like a professional than right now. But objectively, she was doing fine, she had herself under control, but her hold on herself was precarious and there was no telling on how much pressure she could take before her grip would slip and she'd lose the wrestling much to her inner demons. 

There was a sharp turn in the road forcing martin to slow down gripping the steering wheel hard in an effort to keep them from sliding into a tree at the roadside. For a moment it seemed like they had lost control, but Martin managed to keep them on the road. Sam let out a breath she had not noticed she was holding. Martin shot her q quick glance. It was that look, that he had been giving her ever since she had gotten back to work after her shooting. It was a look filled with more than concern. But she wasn't going to deal with that now. She had enough to deal with as it was and the feeling that it might just be too much was getting more crushing by the day. Suddenly the gravel road was exchanged by solid asphalt. The forest seemed to lighten slightly, even though it was difficult to tell with the heavy rain. Another 10minutes of driving later, behind a bend, a small house in with a garden surrounding it came up.

The house was simple, brick walls, unpainted, flat metal roof. Functionality, not aesthetic considerations had played part in the architectural decision of the house. Not what a city man would built himself for a house in the country side. This was the kind of place perfect for activities one didn't want anyone to know about, Far off from any settlement, no neighbours, inexpensive building pace, The question was just what Liam Kendall had been using his country house for. He had not been using it for a while, it least not from the looks of it, The path leading through what had once been a front yard to the metal door, was overgrown was vegetation. Martin parked the car had the far end of the road, but still, of someone was home, they would have seen them coming. There was no car parked in front of the house and since there was only one access route, a suspect would hardly be able to get away. But it was highly doubtful anyone was home, The entire property gave an abandoned impression No light illuminated any if the window's at the twilight November day.

Sam looked over to Martin, seeing him approach the front lawn slowly, motioning for her to go around the back side to make sure that the suspect had no chance of evading them. Before she had a chance to follow his gesture, a noise halted her movement. It wasn't t explosion of a shot fired from a handgun. It was different from the horrible sounds that had deafened her when Barry Mashburn had fired his gun, it was softer, damped. More of a popping sound then a gunshot. Silencer. She had never actually heard a gun with silencer fired in the field, only once in an demonstration, but the memory was there and she instantly knew what had happened. She was falling very fast. Her mind stood still and was racing at the same time presenting her with a myriad of possibilities as her eyes searched for the shooter. Martin was standing two meters in front of her, his gun drawn, he too had hear what was going on. There, she saw a flicker of movement on the roof of the house. It was only a millisecond, she had had registered the human presence and the danger it presented. Martin was stills searching aimlessly, eyes wandering around the area. She raised her gun and was about to pull the trigger when a sudden wave of ice cold fear shot through her and left her frozen. The feeling was beyond rational explanation, beyond anything the reasonable mind would fabricate. It was pure terror. She could not have moved an inch no matter what. Her mind was screaming at her to pull the trigger, to duck, to yell out, to do anything, but she stood in place, giving a perfect target for the sniper on the roof.   
  
  
It seemed like centuries passed while she stood there, her eyes glued to the spot where the moving presence had been when she had first spotted it. The world could have ended and she wouldn't have moved, wouldn't have taken any notice of it all. It was a scream, a human scream filled with pain and fear that had the power to break through to her. She turned in the directing the cry for help had come from. What she saw then for the first time would not leave her memory. The image would stay with her in all it's grizzly horror.  
Martin was on the ground, less than 3 meters from where she was standing rooted to the spot. He was on his back It seemed as though he was looking directly at her, pleading with her to do something anything to help him.  
Blood was staining his shirt which was soaked with rain, the failing drops forming patterns in the blood stained fabric. It was all to unreal. It was like a slow motion horror movie, where the sound had been drowned out by the whooshing rain. It was black and white expect for the burning crimson of the blood on his shirt, starting to mix with the muddy water on the grounds.+-  
His lips were moving, but she heard no words. It was impossible to tell whither his voice had failed him, or whether the words simply did not reach her troubled mind at the time. The grip of shock was finally broken when her gaze hit her own hand and she saw blood trickle down her hand to the ground. This threw her off. She raised her hand and became ware of a paralysing pain in her arm , preventing her effectively form carrying out the movement. She was hurt, the shooter he must have had hit without her even noticing. He had hit Martin was well. Martin was bleeding death right in front of her. The realization came quickly and with that training took over her numbed sense. Rushing over to her fallen colleague, she pulled out her cell phone, dialling 911 to call for help, while she quickly assessed his injuries as well as she could. He had been hit in the chest, luckily below the heart area, but the wound was bleeding profusely. Unaware of her own voice, she gave the operator a quick description of what had happened, and transmitted their location as well she could recall it.  
Powerless, she sat there and waited. She had done all she could do and now she sat there powerless and waiting.  


  
_Samaritan's Hospital,_

November 26, 11.30 a.m.

  
She was sitting on the examining table watching the nurse bandage her arm where the bullet had grazed her. It was a fairly deep graze, but only a graze. They had given her an x-ray to make sure that there was no damage to the bone, but all was fine. The wound did require stitches, but should be healing well, not leaving nasty repercussions. At least that's what she vaguely recalled a whitely clad man telling her.  
  
It was still unreal, as if it was not happening to her, but to someone else. Someone. It was not her talking reacting, she was merely observing what was happening around her. The resident handed her a piece of paper.

  
"This is a prescription for painkillers, you can fill at pharmacy left of the entrance hall. I suggest you take one ever two hours of today. Depending on how your ram is tomorrow, you might only need them for the night. If course, no sports of at least two weeks."

Samantha nodded mechanically and took the piece of paper. She thanked the doctor and walked out, still dazed. The cool air in the entrance hall, was a relief from the overheated, treatment room. She sunk down into the first free chair available, She suddenly felt drained of all energy, as if she had been on her feet for days. A woman holding a cup of coffee passed by her. Coffee. No that wasn't a good idea, caffeine would only aggravate her nerves, and she needed them right now more than ever. She still wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but the terrible dreadful feeling in her stomach was growing by the moment, as her clarity returned. She had seen the shooter, but she hadn't managed to fire her gun or warn Martin in any way. Because of that Martin had gotten shot. Martin had gotten shot,. How was he, She hadn't thought about that yet. She shook her head and went to the front desk to enquire, dreading what she might find out but there was no getting out of it. She took a deep breath, instantly regretting the moves, as the artificial air hit her lungs full force. She grabbed her badge inside her coat pocket and walked up the lady at the desk.  
She showed her badge and stated that she was working with Agent Fitzgerald. The attendant studied her intently for what seemed like forever, before she started typing away on her keyboard before returning to her with an answer.

  
"He's still ins surgery, it'll be a while before you'll get any news."

  
She was relived, he was still live even though there was no battle won. She might yet turn out responsible for his death. She needed to notify the FBI, even if the local police had already down that she still needed to call jack herself. But what was she going to say., There was no right way the out into words what she had to say,. The admission would be terrible and no words could take that away. She was scared of Jack's reaction. He had been right all along and false pride had prevented her from, ostening to it, he had rightly seen that she wasn't read, he had asked her to seek help before going back into the filed, Not she had declined, not just once, but several times, even after she had gotten a mild taste of what might happen, when Danny and she had been at the cottage after finding Diane's body at the roadside. The dimensions of her mistake were just starting to emerge and the weight of guilt was building up to its crushing mass. Recalling that cell phone's were not for use within hospitals she walked out into the park. It had stopped to rain, and the sun had come out from between the clouds. No whether could have been less fitting to her mood. The sunshine seemed inappropriate, how the sun wa still shining even when the world had gone so wrong. But that was how it went. The world continued to turn no matter what. In a sad way that was a consolation in a situation when it seemed impossible, She took a deep breath trying to calm herself down as well possible before making the call, she already knew would be hard and upsetting. With any luck Jack was already aware of the details of what had happened, as she wasn't sure she would be able to give a coherent account while she was still groping to understand it all herself.  


__

FBI Missing Persons Office, New York City

November 25, 2.30 p.m.

"Malone here. He answered

"Sam, take a deep breath you're not making any sense, he almost yelled.

A pause on the other end and would sounded like a muffled sob.

"We walked into a set-up. It was a sniper, I saw him, but it was too late, I missed him. And then, then Martin got hit. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't." Sam sounded extremely distressed, but seemed to have recovered her composure somewhat.

"Who's running the investigation?"

"The local police, as far as I know." He couldn't hear voice in the background, Sam saying "Just a second"

"Jack, I'll have to go. I'll call you back." 

As soon as she had hung up, he leapt into a frantic drive of activity, pushing back all feelings and doubts. He had to do something now.

Ten minutes later he had the investigating officer on the line.

"We've already contact the North Carolina Field Office. They're sending an agent right away."

"That won't be necessary, we'll send a team as soon as possible. Now what can you tell me about the shooting?"

"There were no witnessed, for the moment we only have the statement from Agent Spade. According to her they approached the house of a suspect in a case they were investigating. She spotted suspicious movements on the roof of the house, but before she had a chance to incapacitate, the shooter opened fire, hitting Agent Fitzgerald. Agent Spade tried to apprehend the shooter, but was wounded as well. We have road blocks set up and the composite sketch is going out to high-way patrols and the media as we speak. I can fax it to you." The agent offered.

"Thank you. That would be appreciated." Jack replied.

__

Samaritan's Hospital,

November 25, 6 p.m.

He came back with a cup of coffee from the vending machine. Sam had not moved an inch since he had left five minutes ago.

Watching her sitting that plastic chair raw emotion on her face, was incredibly hard. To see her suffer like that emotionally hurt him as well. she had been through a lot lately, more than anyone should be. And now she had gotten into another shooting. It would have been hard on any agent of the team, but Sam of all people shouldn't have to deal with it. It wasn't going to be just the shooting, every action of hers during the altercation would be probed. And they might just find fault. Emotional trauma made people react differently than they otherwise would have. Just because they were professionals didn't mean that they were immune to that. He hurt with her and for her and there was nothing he could do. he should have trusted his instinct and read the signs that she wasn't ready to go back She wouldn't have accepted it, but his her supervisory agent it was his job to see when one of his agents was impaired. he had failed. He had given in to her, because he'd been distracted and because he didn't want to argue with her. he didn't want her to think that he didn't trust her as an agents anymore. The boundary between professional and personal feelings had been crossed when the had gone home together for the first time. So far, nothing had happened, But he had always known that one day it could affect his judgement and he could make a mistake. He'd thought it wouldn't happen, but it had today and the price was high, too high. martin might not survive, Sam's career was probably ruined, his might be ruined. but worse, the guilt he felt would be inescapable, it would follow him everyone, to work, at home and into his sleep.

He took a sip of his coffee. It was almost cold now. He checked his watch. They had been here for over five hours. It would be at least four more hours until the knew anything. There was no point in staying here.

Sam, he walked over to her, speaking softly, not wanting to alarm her. At first she didn't react, but then her gaze broke away from the grey linoleum floor.

"Sam. You really should get some rest. It will be until morning until we know more."

"Jack, …I'm so sorry." It was the first thing she said since they had gotten to the hospital.

" I know. You did what you could. Now, you need some rest, Is your arm hurting badly?"

Sam looked at her arm, as if realizing for the first time that the bullet had winged her.

"It stings quite a bit" she sounded surprised.

"The ER doctor wrote you a prescription for painkillers. Jack handed her the paper. Come on. Let's go." Sam got up, unsteady on her feet, Jack caught her by the elbow, steadying her. 

"You okay?"

She nodded. "Haven't eaten in a while, I guess. I'm fine." She shook of his hand.

He followed her out into the lobby. She filled the prescription and left for the parking lot, where she got out her cell phone.

"I'm here with the rental car. I'll drop you off at the motel."

The drive passed in silence, each hanging on to their own thoughts, wondering what the other was thinking.

When the car suddenly stopped in front of a supermarket, Sam looked at jack, puzzled.

"you need to get something to eat. Blacking out is the last thing that you need tonight. Anything you want?" he made a move to get out of the car but stopped when Sam spoke.

"Jack, I can take care of myself. I might be unable to do my job in the field and I might have just gotten Martin killed, but I can get dinner myself. You have every right to have lost faith in me as an agent., which I probably won't be for much longer anyways, but just stop it." She snapped at him.

She wiped away tears, turning her head, hoping that he wouldn't see. It was too late.

"I'm sorry Sam. I'm worried about you. I was wrong to send you out on an assignment so quickly. I made a mistake in judgement going after this lead in the first place and it is my fault that Martin and you walked into this situation. I had no right to send you there. I'm the one who has to feel sorry about what happened." 

His words were inadequate to express the pain and guilt that was building up inside him. There were no words for the weight he was bearing. There were no words of consolation for her. He needed to ease her pain, but was powerless. He had not felt that helpless since she had been a hostage in that bookstore, But at least then there had been something he could do. But no, all he could do was offer empty words.

"No." she sniffed, wiping away more tears.

He had never seen Sam cry before. He knew her as a strong woman and couldn't image what pain it must take for her to break down like that, He wasn't thinking when he pulled her into a hug a second later. She didn't resist the movement. He could feel the tension of her body ease slightly under his hands. 

"It's okay Sam." He whispered, well aware of the lie. Nothing was going to be okay, but it was for a few seconds as he held Sam and eased her pain for a brief moment, the world was perfect.

tbc


	9. 8

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Disclaimer etc see Chapter 1

White Pines Motel, rural North Carolina

November 26, 8:15 a.m.

Her head hurt. Her arm hurt. Hangover? No, she couldn't remember drinking. What day was it? She opened her eyes. What she saw wasn't what she had been expecting. It was dark, but even in the twilight, it was clear that this wasn't her bedroom. She sat up, slightly alarmed. The movement made her head spin. She couldn't have had that much to drink. It had been a while since she had woken up and not known how she had gotten there. That hadn't happened to her since her college days.

Systematically she looked around, collecting pieces of information. Generic, tasteless furniture, motel room?

There was a bandage on her upper arm. The motel room; Jack had seen her to her room the night before. His intense, hurt eyes when he wished her a good night. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. The shooting. The scene unfolded in her mind, assaulting her anew in black and white. The only colour was the burning red of the blood staining Martin's shirt. Oh God! It all came back to her, along with the burden of guilt. She would have to face the music. With grim determination, she got up and parted the curtains. Bright light assaulted her. What time was it? 8:30 a.m. She hadn't slept this long in years. She was supposed to be at the station at ten. The investigation. She already knew the questions they would ask. The same questions she had been asking herself over and over again before she had finally drifted off to sleep in the early morning hours, the same questions that would follow her to work every day, the same questions that she would ask herself every time she looked at her gun.

She got up and took a shower. While it couldn't wash away the lousiness that she felt, it did wake her up and cleared her head enough for her to consider being ready for the day. The water caused the stitched wound in her arm to sting mercilessly. But she didn't stop, she couldn't. In a way, it felt good; it reminded her that she was alive. Towelling off, she got dressed, avoiding the mirror. She didn't think that she could face looking at herself in the mirror. All that would stare back at her was failure. She couldn't face that, not yet.

Suddenly there was knock at the door. Jack? No, he had told her that he had to fly to D.C.

"Sam, it's Danny. You up yet? "

"Danny, what was he doing here?" This was the first thing which came to mind. She couldn't recall Jack mentioning him the day before.

"Jack's headed back to the city." Danny didn't really answer the question, but her headache didn't permit her to contemplate that further.

"Yes, I'll be ready in a second," she called out.

She looked around, searching for her suit jacket, but couldn't find it. It wasn't there. Forensics had taken it in to check it for GSR. It was standard procedure, yet she felt her life invaded. She took a deep breath, trying to keep the new stirring of the memories at bay. She couldn't stand there forever, and she didn't want to alarm Danny, causing him to ask uncomfortable questions. She grabbed her spare jacket from the suitcase and headed out the door. She didn't want to face any of her team, afraid that she would only see the blame in their yes. Blame which, in fact, she deserved.

Danny didn't comment on her having taken so long to get ready. He didn't ask any questions at all, probably sensing that she wasn't ready to talk.

"You want to get breakfast before we head to the station? We still have time."

"Breakfast would be good. I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday," she replied, glad that the conversation was on an inconspicuous topic at the moment. She wasn't ready to delve into what had happened---not yet.

They went to the nearest restaurant, which was just down the road. Although they certainly weren't going to be served culinary gems, it was a quiet place at this time of the day. They took a seat in the back of the restaurant and placed their order with a tired looking waitress. They waited in silence for their meals. It wasn't an indomitable silence, but was more of a silent agreement, permitting each to bring order to their own thoughts and get ready for the day ahead. Fifteen minutes later their breakfast arrived. After a few sips of hot coffee, Samantha started to feel awake again. But eating with the use of just one arm was more taxing than she had anticipated.

"You want me to cut that up for you?" Danny asked.

"No, I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Thanks. Guess I'll be going on a diet for awhile." she smiled

"How is the arm holding up?"

"It's just a deep graze. I have to show up at the hospital this afternoon for a follow-up." Samantha didn't look up. She knew she had gotten lucky and saying it out loud made it even more so.

"Sam, I talked to the hospital this morning. Martin is going to make it. Stop blaming yourself. It's no one's fault that he got shot and the bullet only grazed you." There he had said it. As much as Samantha had feared that moment, she was now more relieved than before.

"Thanks, I know. It's just difficult right now."

"I know."

They continued their meal in silence.

"So, how long are you going to stay here?" Samantha broke the silence.

"I flew in with Jack yesterday." He paused. "I'm looking at the field agent's investigation."

Samantha's heart sank at the thought of the investigation where she would be sitting at the suspect's end.

__

Office of Paula Van Doran, FBI Missing Persons Unit, New York City

November 26, 10 a.m.

"I cannot believe that you chose not to inform me about receiving threats. What were you thinking, Jack?"

He didn't really have an answer to that. He had not been thinking. His reasoning was deeply rooted in emotions and now when he tried to retrace his thoughts, he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried.

"I didn't think they were serious," he finally answered the question, mainly because Van Doran looked at him, clearly expecting an answer.

"I'm tempted to pull you from this case in light of recent developments---first a car bomb and then yesterday two agents were targeted by a sniper. And that is disregarding the incident with Robert Kendall. For something that isn't serious, a lot of bullets are flying around," Van Doran noted dryly. "I'm tempted to pull you from this case immediately, but regarding the personnel situation, I can't do that at the moment. The homicide of Diane Durkin and the disappearance of Lydia Atkinson and Sina Atkinson are clearly connected. You'll continue to work on this case, but there will be an OPR investigation regarding your assessment of the threats, your treatment of the fingerprint evidence, and your judgment of the field capability of Agent Spade. She said the last part with a hint a irony. This didn't go by unnoticed and Jack was both angered at this and reminded of the guilt he was carrying. "But the only reason I'm doing this is because this is a high profile case and bringing in a new team now wouldn't be good for the case. But I want no more mistakes from here on out. And Agent Spade is on leave until further notice." With that Van Doran got up, signalling Jack that the conversation was over. He got up and left the office. Once he was outside, he allowed himself to breathe more easily. As far as the damage to his career was concerned, he had gotten incredibly lucky. The OPR investigation was still hanging over his head, but the fact that it had been postponed was a good sign. If Van Doran had had any intention of getting rid of him, she would have done so already. 

Jack went back to his office. He was going to go over everything again. There were so many leads and loose ends on this case that they were bound to have overlooked some of them. On his desk he found another report waiting for him, adding to the growing pile of evidence in this case. He started to wonder just how many cases had never been solved because the investigator had literally been drowned in paper. He sat down and picked up the report. It was the results of the bullet found in Diane Durkin's head. Ballistics had found that the same gun that had killed her had been used before. In 1996, the body of two unknown males had been found in North Carolina. They had never been identified and by the time they had been found, only skeletons had remained. This didn't really get them anywhere, except maybe to underline the assumption that there was a link to organized crime in this. But that was about it. He sighed and put the report aside, not sure where to go next. But first, he had to make a call. He dialled Samantha's cell phone, but the computer voice informed him that the desired connection could not be established. The same went for Danny's cell phone. He recalled that he too had not been able to get a reliable network connection while in the forest. They were probably out of range at the moment. He dialled the local field office, who were most likely to get hold of his agents soon.

__

North Carolina Field Office

November 26, 10 a.m.

They had just stepped into the lobby of the field office, when they were intercepted by a man in his fifties, wearing a badge and identifying himself. "Good morning, Agent Spade, Agent Taylor. I'm Agent Robinson with the local field office. I'll be heading our end of the investigation of the shooting yesterday."

He led them into his small office. Compared with the New York office, the building seemed almost deserted. They only passed a single person on their way to Agent Robinson's office.

I have received your initial statement, Agent Spade." He handed her the report.

"You were under a lot of stress yesterday. Is there anything you want to add?"

Samantha read through the statement, forcing herself to replay the scene in her mind: getting out of the car, talking to Martin, suddenly spotting a figure on the roof, yelling, getting her gun out, shots tearing through the air, the incredible fear, being unable to lift her gun, unable to do anything. She swallowed hard.

"I don't have anything to add to it. It happened the way I described it yesterday."

"Fair enough. We haven't gotten any hits on the shooter yet, but your composite sketch has gone out to the media and to all airports and bus stations. If he tries to leave the country, we will get him. Unfortunately our forensics' team hasn't turned up anything useful." Agent Robinson explained.

"As soon as we have your final report, the matter should be resolved. Of course, the case will remain open, but to be honest, if he doesn't run into the police at a roadblock, our chances of catching this guy are pretty small."

"There is still the angle of our case. After all, the shooter must have known that we would be in the area. Have your agents asked around? It's a small town and any strangers would stick out," Danny spoke with barely contained anger. He couldn't believe that the investigation would be dismissed so easily. Someone had attempted to shoot two FBI agents, only a day after two agents had nearly fallen victim to a car bomb. There had to be intervention; all clues pointed to organized crime or terrorism. But it was hardly Agent Robinson's fault. That order would have to come from Washington. Hopefully, Jack would be able to pull some strings or at least make sense of it all. Otherwise, he had to agree---their chances of ever finding the person who had placed the bomb or the shooter were minimal.

"We have looked into police reports and asked the local paper for assistance. So far our search has turned up nothing. The property is rather remote; an outsider could have set up camp there without ever passing through the town. I'm afraid there are no viable leads in this case, but we will, of course, pursue every avenue. I'll keep you informed." He added the last part quickly when he saw their reaction

"Good day, agents." He nodded in their direction and left. Danny and Samantha returned outside to their rental car.

Samantha couldn't believe her ears either. There was no question as to her actions, not one word about her missing the shooter, about not being able to apprehend the suspect. Procedure normally subjected agents to the most probing questions after a shooting, even if the circumstances were far less suspect. She couldn't believe she would get away from this so easily. After all, she had managed to miss the shooter, giving him plenty of opportunity to wound her and to get away, eluding capture forever.

Danny shot a quick look around, making sure that they were indeed alone.

"That was strange."

"I agree. It couldn't have gone that well. And I can't believe that they are burying the investigation already."

"I agree. Normally the FBI would be all over this, tearing apart this town. I just hope Jack turns up something, and maybe get someone to actually make them move here. Otherwise, they are never going to catch this sick son of a bitch. We have been played from the start, and the act that Jack's been pulling hasn't been helping either. God knows what else he isn't telling us," Danny spoke heatedly,

"Jack. What didn't he tell us?" Samantha was confused.

"The print lifted from Lydia's house; when forensics ran it, there were two matches: Markus Feldman and Liam Kendall. They must be one and the same person. Jack didn't tell Van Doran or anyone and went ahead, even though he knew he couldn't get a warrant based on that print. Now the same day, he and Vivian were car bombed and the next morning someone makes an attempt on you and Martin."

Samantha winced at his words. But more than the reminder of the previous day, it was the new information that startled her. Jack in the garage. She had had the feeling that something was up and then there was his strange behaviour about letting her back into the field. He had just given in to her. At the time she had been glad about this, but now she started to question what might be going on with Jack.

"I'm sorry, Sam. We've all been on edge lately."

"It's okay. I don't know what to think anymore myself."

Back in his office, Jack spotted the letter that he had opened the previous day, just before he had gotten the call from Samantha informing him that Martin had been shot. The letter contained several pages of writing. He read through it several times. The letter was from the editor of the newspaper Lydia had occasionally written for. The editor had seen the reports about Lydia's disappearance on TV and had sent him copies of all articles that Lydia had published with the paper and also mentioned that she had sent in a draft the day before she had vanished. Jack skimmed the articles that were enclosed, but discovered nothing probative. They covered a variety of topics, but nothing that would have made Lydia any enemies. It was unlikely that her latest article, which Jack assumed dealt with a religious subject, would be any more revealing. Still, he dialled the phone number in the letterhead.

Two minutes later he had the editor on the phone. He explained who he was and why he was calling.

"Yes. I'm not sure it will help you find Lydia, but I'll send you the article. I'm so sorry that I didn't see it earlier, but Lydia isn't one of our regular freelance journalists; in fact, she hasn't submitted anything in over a year. We get tons of submissions every week, and it takes a while to dig through the slush pile."

"I appreciate your help. When is the last time you spoke to Lydia?"

"I don't know. I think it must have been while she was still regularly writing for us, but I don't think I have spoken to her in a year. But she did leave a message on my answering machine last week. She didn't say what it was about, she only asked that I call her back. I did, but nobody picked up. Then a few days later I saw on the news what had happened to her."

"Do you think there might be a connection to what she was writing about?"

"No, she isn't that type of journalist. She doesn't have the experience or the skills if you ask me. She had potential but not the discipline to develop it. But I don't think she had to. As far as I know, money was never an issue she lost sleep over."

"Sounds like you know her quite well. Do you know whether she had an office somewhere?" Jack recalled that they had never found any samples of her writing or her laptop at Lydia's home.

"She was working from home, as far as I know. Is there anything else I can do to help you find her and her daughter?"

Jack thought for a moment.

"Actually there is. Can you search through all her articles and see whether she had ever mentioned the names Feldman and Kendall?"

"Sure. Hang on a minute. Those articles are all computerized nowadays."

There was a brief silence where he only heard the faint clicking sound of someone typing.

"Here it is. No, she never mentioned either of those names in her published work."

"Thank you very much for your help."

"Not a problem. Good day, Agent Malone."

Another dead end or so it seemed. Maybe the laptop had really just been taken because it was an object of value. He wondered whether they were just looking in the wrong direction. Feldman might just be their doer. Feldman had ties to Europe, so Interpol might have something on him. That should have occurred to him sooner. He was just about to start dialling again when there was suddenly a knock on the door. The door was opened before he had the chance to answer. It was Van Doran again.

"Jack, you're being requested in Washington. "

"Who requested to see me?"

"Victor Fitzgerald."

Jack's heart sank at the mention of his name. But he had anticipated that he would have to face the anger and accusation of Martin's father at one point. His conduct in a case on which Martin had been shot, perhaps even killed, was bound to be under heavy scrutiny. He sighed and packed away his paperwork. He was done on this case one way or another.

There was just one thing left before heading to D.C. He had to call Maria and let her know that he was not going to come home. He didn't look forward to making this call any more than to speaking to Victor Fitzgerald. He and Maria had not spoken since he had come home the previous night. He had already dialled through half her cell phone number when he changed his mind. He hung up. He was tired, the case was wearing him out, his career was about to end and his marriage was in shambles no matter how hard he tried, and he had spent a sleepless night to boot. He didn't have the energy to deal with Maria right now. So he dialled their home number and left a message on the voice box. He was sure that he was going to regret this later, but for the moment it seemed like the best solution. He grabbed his briefcase with the files for the case to go over them once again on the flight and left his office, wondering whether he would ever work there again. Victor Fitzgerald certainly didn't want to see him for small talk.

__

Somewhere in rural North Carolina

November 26, 1 p.m.

The road was winding through the forest. They had been driving for a good twenty minutes without ever passing another car. The house was perfectly isolated. Agent Robinson had been right; anyone could have gotten to the house without being noticed by anyone in the village. But that still left them with the question how anyone could have done that, they would have had to have resources and threat indicated that a group of people was behind them. Danny glanced over at Sam. Tension was on her features; she was picking a thread in her suit. Considering the circumstances, she was holding up well. The shooting of a colleague was always hard on law enforcement officers.. He felt it too. Adding the frustration about the cooperation of the local agents and the aggravating case, it was enough for anyone to be under unusual strain. He couldn't imagine what Samantha was going through, actually having been witness to the incident.

They were both silent as they got out of the car at the scene of yesterday's shooting. It looked so peaceful, an idyllic scene: nature surrounding the quaint little stone house with its overgrown garden. To the casual passer-by, it looked the epitome of rural peace. But when one approached the house and looked closer, the signs of the nightmare that had taken place there the previous day were still visible---the trampled grass where medical personnel and investigators had been working, the blood on the gravel access.

A sensation of chill overcame Sam. It was as if the air had suddenly cooled down by ten degrees. She instantly pulled her jacket closer as they walked over to the house.

Samantha couldn't avoid staring at the bloody spot on the gravel road. She saw Martin looking up at her, shock and fear on his face, blood starting to drench his white shirt. Him looking up at her. She turned away from him, avoiding his hurt eyes.

Danny didn't say anything. He patiently waited for her by the door.

"Let's take a look then. But it doesn't look like anyone was living here for a while. There is grass on the access road, so no one was driving there regularly."

The decay on the outside had also taken place inside. Although the dust had been disturbed in places by the crime scene technicians, it was still evident that it was abandoned. But looking at how sparse and worn the furniture was, that was not surprising. On the ground floor, which consisted of two rooms and a bathroom, they found four iron framed bunk beds in one room, a few chairs and a table in the other. A hotplate standing on the table and a fridge were the only kitchen appliances. Samantha opened the refrigerator. Whoever had been living here had not bothered to empty the fridge before leaving. The contents were simple: bread, milk, orange juice, crackers, some processed cheese. Samantha checked the expiration date. Only the milk was already expired; the other items were still consumable.

"Danny, come have a look at this," Samantha called.

"It's expired only five days ago." She pointed to the date printed on the bottle.

"Even modern food processing doesn't make fresh milk stay that way for months. There was someone here recently," Danny said.

"Have you found anything yet?"

"Not much. It's been cleaned out pretty well. Someone did a good job here. But I did find this." He held up a packet with white powder and a wad of bills.

"Drugs and cash, stashed in the classic hiding place behind a tile in the bathroom." Danny smiled.

"That's our connection. Drugs and money. It's been everywhere. The money in Diane's apartment, drug trafficking near Kendall's cottage, the car bomb, the false identity. It looks like organized crime."

"But what were two women interested in religion doing with drug dealers? Somehow they don't strike me as the type."

"Maybe Diane was stashing drugs in her apartment for some dealer to make a few extra bucks. Lydia knows her through her first husband, Feldman. Somehow they hook up. Maybe Lydia wanted to write about Diane or she was into drugs. Then one night, Diane is involved in the hit and run. She is murdered later. The same night Lydia starts acting weird---pulling cash from her account, taking anti-anxiety pills. She knows that something is coming down. Someone grabs her, drags her to Kendall's place and kills her and her daughter, then cleans out the apartment."

"Wow, that is a pretty comprehensive theory, but what about the car bomb? We were nowhere near close to any big fish dealer or anything. And yesterday, that doesn't make any sense. There has to be something more to this than just some small-time dealer."

"It all started when we zeroed in on this guy, Kendall, Feldman or whoever he really is. He has got something big to hide and from what it looks like, he has ties to organized crime. That is the only explanation for the car bomb and the shooter on the hill."

"But they are too sloppy for organized crime. The car bomb didn't go off right and the shooter missed me. A professional wouldn't have made those kinds of mistakes." She shudders at the morbidity of that thought.

"We're walking in circles," Danny said. "Let's finish up here and then drive back. When is your appointment at the hospital?"

Samantha had already forgotten that she was supposed to come in again and have someone look at her arm.

"Uhmm, I think it was at four in the afternoon," Samantha answered with dread.


	10. 9

__

Disclaimer etc. see Chapter 1

Author's Note: Thanks to M and D for their help with this story. You rock! Also thanks to anyone who has read and reviewed.

Samaritan's Hospital, North Carolina

__

November 27, 3.50 p.m.

"I'm heading over to the field office. Is it okay if I meet you back at the motel?" Danny asked as they pulled up in front of the hospital.

Samantha knew that he was just trying to give her some space.

"Sure. I'm going to take a cab back then if you're taking the car," she said with confidence, although she dreaded facing Martin. What if he blamed her in the same way she did?

She got out of the car and marched towards the entrance. Her own appointment passed in a haze. She waited, flipping through a magazine, but not paying any attention to its content. Her nervous thoughts were racing, making concentration difficult. She duly answered the nurse's questions, but couldn't recall a single one afterwards. All she recalled was that she was supposed to come back the next day for another check because the wound didn't seem to be healing very fast. Once her appointment was over, she headed back into the main hall.

The main hall was busier than she had noticed before and she had to wait quite a while before the receptionist turned to her.

"I have an appointment with Dr. Reed," she stated her intention.

"First floor, Room 1106," the receptionist answered her almost mechanically before turning to the next person waiting in line behind Samantha.

"Thank you."

Samantha followed her directions. It was as if her mind was set on autopilot, following the signposts to the elevator, getting on, riding up to the first floor and taking a seat in the waiting area.

The appointment was hazy. She replied to the doctor's questions about pain and mobility, then a nurse changed the dressing on her wound and she was free to go. Now came the part she was not looking forward to at all. She asked for directions to Martin's room, but was referred to his doctor instead. While riding up to the eighth floor, a nightmare unfolded in her mind: images of the shooting, mixed with fear and self-loathing---fear of what she was going to learn, guilt and self-loathing about what she might be responsible for. If Martin would not recover, how could she ever live with the knowledge that she was responsible for it? She could take the consequences of her actions, she could live with losing her field certification. Not that it wouldn't be hard, but she would be able to live with it. But living with such a load on her conscience, she didn't know how she could do that.

Now, she was going to find out. For a second she hesitated, her hand resting on the wooden door. There was no way out of this. She couldn't run away. She was going to have to come face to face with the consequences of her actions.

Her knocking was answered immediately. A male voice invited her to enter. Martin's doctor was in his 40s and was obviously expecting her.

"You must be one of the people with the FBI?"

"Yes, I'm Agent Spade." They shook hands.

"Someone from the local office was already here yesterday and I told them all I can. I also gave them the bullet for analysis. But I do have a question. Does Mr. Fitzgerald have any family that you know of? We tried calling his father with the number that we found in his contact information, but we couldn't reach him."

"No, I'm sorry, I don't know any other family members of his," Samantha answered, suddenly aware of how little she knew about the people she worked with---the people she trusted with her life.

Dr. Reed was looking at her, waiting for her to say why exactly she had come to see him. She knew what she wanted to ask, but something was holding her back. It was strange, she didn't know herself like this, but the person she had been those last few days was a stranger even to herself. She took a breath and forced herself to formulate the words.

"How is he doing?"

"He's stable for now. The surgery seems to have been a success."

Martin was going to be all right. Although his condition was serious, she would not have to deal with the guilt of having killed a friend. She realized how selfish this thought was and chided herself for only considering her own needs, while Martin was going to face a lengthy and painful period of recovery because of her mistake.

"Will he make a full recovery?" She asked the other question that had been on her mind ever since the shooting. It was important to Martin; he was driven and ambitious and just at the start of a promising career.

"It will take some time, but he's expected to make a full recovery," Dr. Reed replied.

****

Tension had threatened to crush her ever since she had realized what had happened. The doctor's words now eased that tension to a bearable level.

It was an almost physical sensation of relief that flooded her.

"Thank you." The voice inside her head told her that she should ask Dr. Reed whether she could visit Martin.

"Did you preserve the bullet when you removed it?" Samantha asked, trying to sound like the professional she was supposed to be.

"Of course. I gave it to another agent---Robinson, I think his name was. He works for that local field office. He said he wanted to sent it to the lab for analysis." Dr. Reed explained.

Samantha was puzzled. She didn't recall Agent Robinson having mentioned that he submitted the bullet for forensic examination. But then again, she had been rather preoccupied during this morning. Nonetheless, the bullet might be the key to this case; it might give them the connection they were looking for. Without the data from this bullet, they might never be able to make a link between the shooting and the murder of Diane Durkin and what they assumed to be the murder of Lydia Atkinson and her daughter. Without this one piece of evidence linking these crimes together, all they had was a coincidence but Samantha found it impossible to believe that all this---the murders, the shooting, the false identities and the car bomb---could just happen within a week and not be connected. In fact, she got the impression that what they knew was only the tip of the iceberg. She thanked Dr. Reed again and left his office. On the way back to the elevator, she told herself that there was no point in visiting Martin, since he probably wasn't conscious yet. Deep down, though, she knew that she was only avoiding the confrontation. Seeing Martin would mean coming face-to-face with the guilt she felt. Even without a reaction from him, the images of the shooting that kept appearing in front of her eyes made it impossible to escape the knowledge of what had happened for more than a few minutes. Normally, she turned to work in a crisis. After her first marriage had ended in hate and financial disaster, she had thrown herself into applying to the FBI academy and had been dedicated to her job ever since. But this time, her job had become the crisis in her life and she didn't know where else to turn.

But lately, so little seemed to have remained from the person she knew herself to be. She wasn't a person to run away from responsibility or unpleasant events. But somehow, somewhere along the way, this had changed, and now she had to accommodate the person she apparently had turned into. Reality had brutally forced her to stop seeing herself primarily as a trained professional, a capable FBI agent, young and successful. Pondering darkly as she left hospital, it occurred to her that Danny had taken the car to go to the field office, leaving her effectively stranded without transportation. She couldn't recall whether he had mentioned the issue or not. She had to take a cab back to the motel. While she didn't look forward to explaining this expense in her report, she appreciated the time of uninterrupted thinking it afforded her. She liked Danny and liked being around him, both in a professional and personal capacity, but now she preferred to be alone with her thoughts.

__

FBI Field Office, North Carolina

November 27, 5.30 p.m.

The field office seemed even more deserted now than it had in the morning. Only three cars were parked in the lot before the concrete building. Danny parked his rental car and entered the building. There was a reception counter, but it was vacant at the moment. He looked around for a signpost when a woman entered the entrance hall from an elevator. As she came closer, Danny saw that she didn't wear a visitor tag like he did, but a badge identifying her as an agent from the field office.

"Hello. What can I do for you?" she approached him, smiling friendly.

"Hello. I'm Agent Taylor with the New York City field office. I'm looking for Agent Robinson." Danny hoped that Agent Robinson hadn't gone home yet. He didn't believe that this was such a remote possibility given the enthusiasm that Agent Robinson had displayed before.

"I'm afraid he isn't in at the moment. I heard about your colleague. How is he doing?" the woman asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"It'll take a while, but he is going to be fine."

"That's good to hear. Are you here because of the case?"

"Yes, my partner and I were at the scene again today and we found some additional evidence that we need to have analysed."

"We don't have our own lab here. That is shared with the local police and everything more advanced needs to be sent to Quantico anyways."

"No, it's nothing complicated, just a substance analyse and prints."

"That should be okay. The lab is in the next town, maybe twenty miles from here. If you hurry up, you'll still catch someone there."

"That would be good. We need this ASAP," Danny said, trying not to show his impatience with the inefficacy of the investigation. After all, it was not the agent's fault that resources here were rather limited.

"I can give you directions to the lab; it might get you there quicker," she offered. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Rita Severin."

"Nice to meet you." Danny meant it. For the first time since coming to this remote place, he seemed to have encountered someone who was actually trying to help them get to the bottom of this mysterious case.

"I'll just have to go up to my office again, I need to fetch the paperwork for evidence you gathered. It'll only be a second."

Five minutes later, they sat in the rental car and drove onto the road leading into town.

"How are you going to get back in tomorrow morning?" Danny asked.

"That's not a problem. My husband is a teacher at the local high school, and he often drops me off that the office," Agent Severin explained.

They got lucky. People were still working at the lab by the time they arrived. They were not too pleased that someone was dropping off a sample that late in the evening, but after some discussion, one of the technicians agreed to at least dust the bag and run any prints before leaving the lab for the night. Danny rode back to the motel, trying to call Samantha on her cell phone, but it had apparently been turned off. It was almost 7 p.m. by now; she ought to be finished at the hospital. He was only slightly concerned, but when he got back to the motel and nobody answered when he knocked on Samantha's door, he grew worried. He tried her cell phone again, but to no avail. Then he called the hospital to find out whether anyone could tell him whether Samantha had already had her appointment.

__

Office of Victor Fitzgerald, Washington D.C.,

November 27, 6.45 p.m.

The conversation wasn't going well. After reading to him from the case files, Victor Fitzgerald had proceeded to list all the mistakes that had been made during this investigation. It was not a short list. The worst thing was, that although Jack disagreed in some point, he could see Victor Fitzgerald's reasoning for the most part. The mistakes were real and a lot of them were his mistakes. He was responsible. Victor Fitzgerald finally zeroed in on the events that had led up to the shooting of his son. He brought up the incident the morning Diane's body had been discovered---the shots fired at Danny and Samantha while they had been at Liam Kendall's cottage. Victor Fitzgerald was now asking him the same question he had been asking himself. Why had he chosen to let Samantha continue to work on the case, in spite of her obvious problems?

"It was my decision to send Agent Spade into the field. I misjudged the situation and take full responsibility for it and all the consequences." He knew that he was gambling with his career, but what did he have left to lose? Victor Fitzgerald had all the power and the evidence he needed to have him removed from the Missing Persons Unit and moved to some desk in a small field office. All he could do now was to try to prevent the same thing from happening to Samantha.

"I can imagine that you're more than willing to take responsibility for Agent Spade's actions. It is well known that the two of you have a particularity close working relationship," he said, his voice full of sarcasm.

Jack knew that this subject would be brought up sooner or later. There was nothing he could say to his defence, so he decided to wait. Contrary to what he had expected, Victor Fitzgerald decided not to press the issue further. He didn't need to. Jack knew that there was enough standing against him to cause him to lose his job.

"The DA has issued a warrant for Markus Feldman for the murder of Diane Durkin, Lydia Atkinson and Sina Atkinson. Tom Dyson is dead, so there won't be any charges regarding to child neglect. The DA decided to forgo charging Diane's mother with any crime, and her father has been charged with the murder of Tom Dyson. The case is closed," Victor stated matter of factly. "But the real investigation is just about to begin. Mistakes were made and they will be uncovered; trust me on that. Internal Affairs is waiting to speak to you and the rest of your team. Good day, Agent Malone."

"Good Day." Jack tried to restrain his anger as he left the other man's office.

Jack could understood Victor Fitzgerald's reaction, or at least part of it. His son had been hurt, possibly even killed. As a father himself, he could understand the need for answers, the rage and the quest for revenge. But he was afraid that Samantha's career might be ruined over this, even if he took responsibility for sending her into the filed. If Victor Fitzgerald wanted to, he could surely get her out of the field permanently...or worse. Samantha's career was just beginning. She was a young agent and had already achieved so much. Jack hated to see all that crumbled because of what had happened. If it did indeed, he would have to bear some of the responsibility. But he already suspected that even if her career should survive intact, Samantha would be hardest on herself for failing to react and allowing Martin to get shot. He tried again to reach Samantha and Danny on their cell phones, but again couldn't reach them.

__

White Pines Motel, rural North Carolina

November 27, 7 p.m.

Back at the motel, emptiness greeted her. It was still rather early in the day, and most people travelling would go on for a few more hours before stopping for the night. Nobody else seemed to be staying for more than one night, and she truly didn't see why anyone should, as this place held little tourist appeal. Feeling exhausted, she took a shower and then tried to lie down for a nap. Her body felt exhausted beyond usual, and she felt as if she had been on her feet for days. But in spite of her exhaustion, her mind was restless and determined to keep its own hours. When peace and rest clearly eluded her, she got up again, alternating between pacing the room and flipping channels on the small black and white television in the room. She even started writing on her investigative report, but she couldn't concentrate for more than a few minutes at the most, before she went back to pacing the room. Since she couldn't work, couldn't sleep and TV also failed to hold her attention, she decided to go out and get some fresh air and maybe a bite to eat. She hesitated for a moment, pondering whether she should call Jack. But she buried the idea quickly again. What did she have to tell him? And she didn't look forward to his reaction to the shooting incident. He had not talked about it the previous evening, but he would have to address the issue eventually. Samantha had to agree that if she were in his place, she too would have herself removed from the field and might even consider a permanent reassignment. She turned her cell phone off, as she needed to be alone right now.

By the time she got to the restaurant**,** it was barely 7 p.m., and the dinner crowd---if there even was one---had yet to arrive. Samantha took a seat in the back and ordered a sandwich from the same tired-looking waitress who had served her in the morning. While she sat there waiting for her food to arrive, her thought returned back to the beginning, back to the case where it all had started---on the morning when they had been called to investigate the disappearance of Diane Durkin, whom they had soon found out had been murdered. It had started out then---that Jack had been threatened for the first time. Whoever had written the notes must have been afraid that they would uncover more. But what was there to uncover? Was it the murder of two women and one girl, was it the drug dealing that they had somehow gotten mixed up, or was it something entirely else? It all came back to Liam Kendall or Markus Feldman, the unknown man from Europe who Lydia Atkinson had been married to. Samantha's job was to read people, to get an impression of strangers whom she had never met. She was good at it, but try as she might, Liam Kendall remained a man without past, motivations or feelings. It was as if he didn't really exist. Only his prints seemed to exist, as did his alleged brother and several properties. Maybe it was the absence of information that made it so hard for her to get an impression of this man, or maybe she was losing her touch. But still, she thought that she read her co-workers rather well, at least as far as she knew. It was no secret to her that Martin was more attracted to her than she was attracted to him. Danny was the only one of the team she had trouble reading. He kept up a masterful façade. In a way, they all did, but he was the best at it. She could tell that this wasn't just something Danny had picked up on the job working in law enforcement; no, he had probably played a role for much longer.

She was only pulled back into the real work when the waitress sat her food in front of her. Samantha took a sip to the diet coke she couldn't recall having ordered. She took a bite of the sandwich without really tasting it. She looked around and the diner had started to fill up a bit while she had been waiting for her food. She recognized the familiar face of Agent Robinson. She lowered her head again, taking another bite of the sandwich, intent of getting out of the diner. Agent Robison wasn't exactly the person she wanted to have a conversation with now. But he had already spotted her and was making his way over to her table.

tbc


	11. 10

_Hotel Laurentius, Washington D.C.___

_November 27, 9 p.m._

Jack was exhausted after two hours of answering questions that seemed to be going in circles. It was too late to return to New York City and, besides, the OPR agent had made it pretty clear that there would be more questions. It was a wonder to him that he had not yet been suspended. Officially, he was just in Washington, DC, to investigate the shooting of one of his agents. So far, it was just like he had expected:  the probing questions were normal after shootings gone bad. It was normal that his abilities as a leader were being questioned; that was not what was off-putting to him. It was what had happened to their original case:  the still unsolved disappearance of a mother and her six-year-old daughter and the fact that the case had been closed so suddenly, just like that. Especially since the shooter of an FBI agent, was still at large and had clear connections with those two disappearances. "It was especially disturbing that the shooter of an FBI agent was still at large and had clear connections with those two disappearances."  

When he got back to the hotel room, he turned his cell phone back on, intending to try to call Samantha and Danny again. When he saw that he had a voice mail message, he assumed it to be from one of his agents. Already relieved that he had worried over nothing, he was surprised to hear Maria's voice when he started to play back the message.

"Jack, you were supposed to pick the girls up from school. Please call me back." Maria didn't sound angry, but cold. It wasn't what she had said, it was what it meant. He had once again put his job first, before his family responsibilities. Jack sat down on the bed, replaying the message over and over, trying to detect a hint of feeling in it. But he couldn't. Whatever passion and love that had been between him and Maria seemed dead. They had tried. He had been committed to working on his marriage, but deep down he knew that they were beyond saving. After he had gotten home from the bookstore that morning, he had still believed that they could do it, but now he saw that the belief had been inspired by what Barry Mashburn had told him and was not based on the real state of their relationship. It had gone downhill from there. After the explosion of the bomb in the parking lot, he had known for sure. He had known that it was over, that trying was no longer an option. He hadn't even made the effort to call to tell her that he was going out of town.  In retrospect, he could see that he had already given up at the point. It was odd;  when they had gotten married, he had never thought it would end like this---that one evening he would sit on a hotel bed, alone, and realize that it was over. It was not when he had been with another woman that he had come to this realization, but alone, at a point when all areas of his life seemed to have reached a low. Jack sighed. Having the internal certainty that his marriage had failed wasn't what he had needed that night, but in a shameful way, he was relieved. The endless lies would hopefully finally end---that is, if it wasn't too late.  Maybe he had already become the kind of person who lied. He lied to his wife, lied to his supervisors, and lied to the agents who trusted him. He had become a liar.

Danny was now genuinely worried. His mind was racing through the possibilities of what might have happened, while he was trying hard to remain calm. He was trained to do this; it was his job to know how to handle himself in a difficult situation. Finding people was what he did for a living, after all. He went over to the main building of the motel to ask the owner whether he had seen Samantha.

"I know who you're talking about, but I didn't see her. I have been watching TV all afternoon, and I don't see when who comes and goes." The owner shrugged, clearly not very interested in Danny's concerns.

"Can you please take a look in her room to see whether my partner is all right?" Danny asked, trying to remain friendly. He had hesitated for a moment. He was probably overreacting---the last thing they needed on this case---but his nerves too, were frayed by the events.  Samantha might be upset about him checking up on her like that, but if something had really happened to her and he hadn't done anything, he wouldn't easily be able to forgive himself.

"Do you have the right to do that?" the owner asked. "Don't you need a warrant or something?"

"I do have the right and, no, I don't need a warrant," Danny lied.

"All right, all right. You work for the FBI, after all."  The owner rummaged around a drawer before fishing out the master key.

They walked over to Samantha's room. Danny knocked again just to make sure that she hadn't just been asleep before, but he didn't get an answer this time either, so he motioned for the owner to go ahead and open the door.

The motel room was empty. Danny thanked the owner and went in to have a look. He hoped to find out where Samantha had gone. Her jacket and cell phone were lying on the bed, but her gun and badge weren't there. This reassured him just a bit. It was odd that she would leave without her cell phone, but at least it explained why she had not answered his calls.

"Oh." Agent Robinson didn't answer immediately. "I'll meet you at the office."

"Okay." Danny was glad that at least now Agent Robinson was starting to take their case seriously. It was just sad that it took one shot agent and another one missing to get him to start working.

_Highway in North Carolina_

_November 27, 9.15 p.m._

Samantha was tired. The fatigue had finally caught up with her. When Agent Robinson had offered to drive her back to the motel, she was more than happy to accept. Walking the twenty minutes back wasn't what she wanted to do. All she wanted was to lie down and sleep for a week. The pain in her arm was also back with a vengeance. She should have taken the nurse's advice more seriously.

Agent Robinson hung up his cell phone and took a turn towards the town only minutes later. At once, Samantha was wide awake again.

"What's going on?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even and hide the fact that she was suddenly scared.

"Your partner, Agent Taylor, was on the phone.  He found something he wants us to see, and he's waiting at the field office."

"Oh, okay." Samantha was embarrassed at having overreacted.

"I'm sorry.  I should have given you a warning," Agent Robinson added amicably. "Hopefully, it will be a break on your case."

_FBI Field Office_

_November 27, 10.30 p.m._

In the parking lot, another agent was already waiting for them. She was young and looked like she had been crying. Samantha didn't recall having met her in the morning. But considering that only few agents worked at the field office, most of them were probably involved with their case.

"Good evening, Agent Severin. I really appreciate that you could come on such short notice. This is Agent Spade from the New York City field office," Agent Robinson introduced them on their way inside.

When Samantha shook hands with the younger woman, she noticed that her hands were shaking. Adding that to her dishevelled appearance, Samantha couldn't help wondering what was going on with Agent Severin. In fact, the entire scene was starting to seem strange to her. Why were they meeting another agent that late? What could Danny have found that was so important that it couldn't have waited until morning? The questions followed her, as the three agents went upstairs to Agent Robinson's office.

"Agent Taylor should get here in aminute," Agent Robinson said and, indeed, he was right.  In less than a minute, there was a knock on the door and Danny entered. He looked rushed, but when his glance fell on Samantha, he stopped. He seemed surprised to see her.

"Samantha?" he asked, sounding incredulous. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, sure," she answered, not sure what he was referring to. Maybe he had called her cell phone, which she had left behind at the motel.

"What did you find out?" she asked, somewhat impatiently, after Danny didn't seem inclined to explain why he had called everyone to the office this late.

"What do you mean?" Danny asked, puzzled as well. There seemed to be a significant lack of communication. What exactly had Agent Robinson told Samantha? He recalled Agent Robinson's strange behaviour earlier that day and a suspicion started forming in his mind. He had dismissed all the coincidence as paranoia and over-speculation, but now he came to realize that he might not have been so wrong after all.

Samantha's thoughts were running in the same direction. She was still confused, but she started to sense that something was wrong.

"I don't understand. He told me that you wanted to see me about the case," she asked, while alarm bells were going off inside Samantha's head, but it was too late.

"What is going on here?" Agent Severin seemed confused now as well.  She turned to Agent Robinson, who was apparently the only one not confused by what was going on.

What happened next shocked both Samantha and Danny to the core. Of all the things, it was what they expected the least. Agent Robinson reached for Agent Severin's gun, which she was carrying in her holster.  Before any of them had a chance to react, a single shot was fired. Agent Severin collapsed to the ground, the puzzled expression still etched on her face, even when blood was started to pool under her head.


	12. 11

_Hotel Laurentius, _Washington__D.C.____

_ November 28, __7.30 a.m.___

The intruding ringing of his cell phone on the nightstand woke him.  For a moment, he was disoriented, groping around in the dark for whatever was making this noise.  When he finally found his phone and answered, he recognized the dim outline of the room as the hotel room where he was staying.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Jack, but there's important news.   One of the field agents out at the North Carolina Office apparently committed suicide last night.  She left a note confessing to having worked with Markus Feldman as part of a drug-dealing ring.  We haven't analysed everything yet, but there are enough details in the note that we think it's genuine."

Jack didn't know what to say.  Their case had taken yet another unexpected turn.  But it already felt a bit too convenient, that someone from inside just committed suicide and admitted to treason.  On the other hand, maybe he was just getting paranoid; after all, they had only been moving targets until now.

"Are Danny and Samantha coming back to New York then?" he asked, realizing that Vivian was waiting for some kind of reply.

"There is something else," Vivian said hesitantly, and Jack recognized her tone.   It was the same tone she used when giving families bad news about their missing loved ones.  "They are missing.  I don't have all the details yet, but Van Doran wants you back at the office as soon as possible."

"Yes." That was all he could muster at the moment.  This was not happening.  Two FBI agents did not just go missing while on a case.  They were two people trained to use weapons and, if necessary, to use deadly force to defend themselves.

He promised to keep Vivian updated, then hung up.  He packed his small suitcase and called the airline to book his ticket, as if he was in a trance.  Everything was automatic; he was neither thinking nor feeling.

_Somewhere_

_Sometime on November 28_

Ouch! Her head.  Hadn't she been there already---waking up with a hangover? That didn't happen twice in one day.  But this time, something was wrong.  There was no bed.

She extended her arm to push herself up, but that effort fell short when she found that she couldn't move.  Panic rising, she tried again, but undoubtedly her wrists were tied together.  She tested the rest of her limbs and found that her ankles had suffered a similar fate.

This wasn't happening.  It couldn't be happening.  What to do? Don't panic.  First of all, she had to remain calm and find out what was going on here.

She raised her bound wrists until her hands touched the wall...concrete, unpainted.  Then she started dragging herself forward, an inch at a time, along the wall.  It was more exciting than any workout at the gym.  She could feel sweat running down her back and forehead.  Gasping, she leaned back, taking a break.  Her knees and back were aching, but she kept going, working her way forward, around a corner.

Suddenly, the concrete under her hands disappeared and she touched cold metal.  A door? Her knees and back started to hurt.  She leaned back against the wall, taking a deep breath of musty air.

The cycle repeated itself several times as she worked her way along the walls of her prison.  Suddenly, without any warning, she bumped into something on the floor

She recoiled when she hit the soft mass.  Carefully, not knowing what to expect, she edged her hands forward again, prepared this time.

Clothing…the body was warm.  Danny? She moved her hand upwards over more clothing.  Her fingers hit something sticky.  Blood.  She panicked.  Was he hurt, or even dead? He was still breathing.

"Danny?" she whispered, nudging his shoulder carefully, not wanting to move him before knowing how badly he was hurt.  She got a moan in response.

"Danny? Danny, can you hear me?" Her own voice sounded raw.

"Yeah.  Sam?" He sounded pained.

"Ouch." A sharp hiss of pain.

"Just lie on the floor.  You're bleeding from somewhere." She felt so utterly helpless, trapped in darkness.

"I think it's my head.  Even on my worst day, I never had a headache this bad and, believe me, I've been there," he said, trying to lighten the mood.  "Are you hurt?"

"No, I don't think so.  My arm hurts...probably pulled the stitches."

Silence, heavy breathing.

"It is dark, isn't it? Fear was in Danny's voice.  

His usual confident tone was gone.

"It's dark.  I don't think there is a window."

"Good"

Both were silent.

Samantha tried to calm down her frantic mind.  Focus on what you know.  Focus on what's useful.  Panicking will do you no good now.  If they just wanted you out of the way, they would have shot you right there at the gravesite.  So what do I know? She talked to herself, trying to get some order to her thoughts.

The room was bare---rectangular outline, four concrete walls, steel door, no window.  She had an idea.  Carefully, she edged her way back to the direction where she recalled having encountered the metal door.  Grabbing the door handle, she tried pulling herself into a standing position, an undertaking seriously hampered by her ankles being tied together.  She lost her balance and fell.

On her third try, she managed to steady herself.  She felt for the doorframe and found what she was looking for---a light switch.  She flicked it and was immediately assaulted by bright neon light, driving a corkscrew of pain through her head.

She had instinctively raised her hand to her head, causing her to tumble to the ground.  Her arm made painful contact with the ground.  She carefully reopened her eyes, this time allowing herself to adjust to the light.  The room was smaller than it had seemed to her before.

"You could have warned me," Danny said, weakly.

In the light, Danny didn't look well.  Blood had run down his face, sticking to his hair.  His wrists and ankles were tied together with duct tape.

Samantha drew her feet up to her chest, trying to get into a comfortable position.  There was nothing she could do right now.  They were trapped.   It was worse than she had imagined.  Why were they still alive? Agent Robinson and whomever he was working with could have executed them right there and buried them somewhere in the woods, and they would never have been found.  What was the purpose of keeping them alive and bringing them here, wherever that was?

_FBI Missing Person's Unit, __New York City___

_November 28, __4 p.m.___

The trip back to New York City had taken too long and had been too short at the same time.  On one side, Jack could hardly wait to find out what exactly had happened.   He needed to do something as soon as possible; he needed to know everything.   But on the other hand, he didn't want to face what had happened.  It just seemed too much, too soon; his mind was still working hard on taking it in.

At the office, Vivian and Van Doran were already waiting for him.

"This is what we know so far," Van Doran started to explain.  "Agent Robinson found his colleague, Agent Severin, dead at the field office.  She died from a gunshot wound to the head, presumably self-inflicted, but the autopsy will have to confirm that.  Agent Severin left a note in which she admits to having worked with Markus Feldman and several other people involved in a drug-dealing ring.  The letter claims that she panicked once agents started showing up looking for Feldman, and that he orchestrated the sniper attack on Agents Spade and Fitzgerald.  "

"Do we have any verification?"

"A search of her house turned up small amounts of drugs and her bank statements confirm that she had regularly received cash payments.

"What about Danny and Samantha?" Jack asked the question that was foremost on his mind.

 "Agent Severin made a mention of them.  She says they have been taken care of, but she doesn't offer any specifics.  Their rental car was found parked in front of the field office.  But Agent Malone, as long as we have no proof that Agent Severin's statements can be taken as the truth, this is an open investigation and all avenues must be pursued.

"You and Agent Johnson will head this end of the investigation.  I have a copy of the investigative report into the car bomb incident last week, as well as the threatening notes.   There might be a connection unrelated to the case.  I want you to work this like a normal case until you hear otherwise.  The major part of the investigation, however, will be headed by the North Carolina field office, along with an internal investigator.

I will need to have a word with you in private, Agent Malone," she added after a pause.

Vivian left the room, while Jack stayed behind.

"Normally, I wouldn't assign you to this case now.  And if it were my decision to make, you would be suspended right now, pending investigation, but obviously there is someone in Washington looking out for you.  But if I see that you cannot handle this, I will remove you from this case."

"I understand." Jack felt like an agent on his first day of duty.  Truth was, he wasn't sure that he could trust himself to keep his feelings in check on this case, but at the same time, he knew he needed to work on this case.   He needed to do what he could do figure out what had happened to Samantha and Danny.

_Apartment of Danny Taylor, __New York City___

_November 28, __5 p.m.___

Danny's apartment was modern and well-organized.   He certainly didn't spend much on furniture; there were just the essentials.  The entire apartment was small: a tiny kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom and a small living room that also seemed to serve as a study.  Jack started there while Vivian took a look at the rest of the apartment.

On the table, Jack found notes related to their case.  Danny had been jotting down ideas and made lists of clues and diagrams about how the players might be connected.  The names Diane Durkin, Lydia Atkinson and Markus Feldman featured prominently on all of those.  Danny had used question marks to indicate unknowns, such as the letter writer and the authors of the car bomb.

Jack was surprised; he had no idea that Danny spent time working on their cases after hours.  Maybe Van Doran had not been so wrong after all in sending them here.   They might just be able to find something after all.  Jack decided to look around further before taking a closer look at the notes.  It would take some time to analyse those.

Aside from the notes, there was nothing of interest on the table or in the drawers---just stationery and receipts for groceries and gasoline.  Jack looked around for an address book, but didn't find one.  Suddenly there was a noise behind him, coming from the direction of the door.  Jack spun around, drawing his gun at the same time.

A man, approximately Danny's age, stood in the doorway, a scared look on his face.

"Keep your hands were we can see them," Jack ordered.

Vivian had been alerted by the commotion, and had joined them from the kitchen.   She had her gun drawn as well.

"Please, just don't shoot me.  I just wanted to visit Danny Taylor."

Ten minutes later, they were sitting in the small kitchen, taking Shawn's statements.

"How long have you known Danny?"

"Maybe nine months.  But can you finally tell me what's going on? Has something happened to Danny?"

"He has gone missing; we are working on the investigation.  So, when was the last time you saw him?"

 "Three days ago.  He told me that he was going away for work.  We were supposed to meet yesterday, and when I couldn't reach him, I got worried and came here."

Neither Vivian nor Jack wanted to pry further into the nature of Shawn and Danny's relationship.  It felt wrong to intrude on the private lives of the people they worked with every day.  Uncovering their secrets felt like a betrayal.   Vivian and Jack silently agreed that they would not ask any more questions than they needed to ask.

"One last question, Mr. McNeil.  Do you know whether Danny has ever been threatened---phone calls or maybe someone has been following him?"

"Hmm.  There was something he told me about last week.  He said that he had the feeling that he had been followed at work."

 "Did he tell you when he had been followed?"

"If so, I can't remember.  He said that he and a colleague had been checking out something at a club and someone had followed them afterwards.  But that was the only thing he ever mentioned.  He seemed rather nervous about it." Shawn frowned.

Going to Danny's apartment earlier had already been quite difficult.   It had felt like a brutal invasion into his private life.  But when it came to entering Samantha's apartment, he was almost scared.  It was not that he didn't know what to expect---he had been there before and had even spent more than one night there.

The impression of familiarity assaulted him immediately as soon as he stepped from the corridor into her living room.  It looked just like he recalled it.  In the space of a few months, nothing had changed, at least nothing leaping out at him.  Seeing this room made the memories come alive with force: 

Samantha sitting on the couch, changed into more uncomfortable clothes after a long workday; Samantha sitting on the couch, laughing about something; him on the couch with her, kissing her softly; memories of breakfast at the glass coffee table before his eyes.

Sam, not being much of a cook nor having the time to eat at home, didn't even have a dining room table.  What for, she had replied, laughingly, when he had asked on his first visit.  No, it certainly had not been his first visit---then he didn't notice the details of her furnishings.  He couldn't help but smile.  That had come only later.

"Jack, are you all right?" Vivian asked, making him almost jump.  He had not noticed her while he had been lost in his reverie.

This was bad, if she didn't know already.   He was broadcasting a clear signal that his involvement with Samantha had not always been strictly professional.  Of all the time where he could come face to face with the consequences, this was particularly bad.

His position was already precarious due to the course the investigation had been taking, and now that Samantha was missing, his affair with her would portray him in an entirely different light, and might even lead an overzealous agent to question his role in this.   He would too when faced with such a situation on a case.

"I'm fine," he replied, hoping to shake Vivian off.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he said firmly, and turned his attention away from the couch where he had been staring, almost transfixed.

He needed to get a grip on himself, but it was hard.  Although the times of his personal visits here were long over---it had been for over 6 months now---it still felt like he shouldn't be here.  Coming here in a professional capacity violated every personal feeling that had ever taken place between them.  And standing here or, even worse, going through her belongings and turning her life upside down also drove home a point.  She really was missing, and he had no clue as to what had happened.  All he really had were the grizzly scenarios running through his head.

There was no way Danny and she had disappeared voluntarily.  No matter what anyone was suggesting, he knew both of them better than that.  Something horrible had happened to them, and he was here wasting his time and what might also be their time.  But no matter his feelings, he had to get to work and do his job.  Working on the case was all he could do for her right now, and he was determined to do his best.

_FBI Missing Persons Unit, __New York City___

_November 28, __7.45 p.m.___

Danny's case notes had not revealed much new insight. He had not gotten anywhere on the case either. Jack put the notes aside. They were wasting their time here when they should be in North Carolina where Danny and Samantha had been seen the last time. It was extremely unlikely that they would find anything in New York. Even the case to which their disappearance was tied led to North Carolina and Liam Kendall.

There was a knock on the door and Vivian entered. She looked tired and worn.

"Any news?" he asked.

"No. I've checked both their bank accounts; nothing stands out and neither of them charged anything to their credit cards in the last twenty-four hours. The last charge was on Samantha's credit card at Lucy's Diner at 7.15 p.m. yesterday evening---$8, sounds like dinner. But what is odd is that there is no matching charge on Danny's credit card. Either he paid in cash or they didn't have dinner together. But that's about the only irregularity I found. Everything else checks out."

"I've been on the phone, calling everyone in their address books. No one knows anything. I've also been trying to call the local head investigator three times, but somehow nobody seems to know where he is."

"I assume you want the report and the evidence list? I have those right here." Vivian handed him two folders.

"How did you get these?" Jack asked, surprised, as he had chased after those files to no avail.

"I simply asked for someone to fax them here. I took a glance at them, and everything seems to check out. You think it won't, right?"

"There are just too many coincidences. And then the suicide and the letter confessing to just about everything? That's too convenient."

"As you will see in the report, they verified the details of the letter, and so far they all checked out, including the location of Lydia Atkinson's body."

"That was in there as well?" 

"Yes, Agent Severin claims that she personally participated in disposing of Lydia's body. But read it for yourself; here's a copy of the letter.

Jack started to read.

         "I don't know who will read this, but whoever it is, please make sure that the right people will see this. Justice needs to be done. I have committed a terrible betrayal against the Federal Bureau of Investigation and against this entire country. It has come to a point where I cannot          live with the burden any longer. This is the only honourable thing for me to do now.

         Seven years ago, I was working on a case with the narcotics unit in the San Francisco field office. During this investigation, I was approached by a man---Thomas Reedman---whom we suspected to be a major player in a drug trafficking ring. I had financial difficulties at the time and         accepted his offer to make evidence disappear in exchange for money.

         While Thomas Reedman no doubt has ordered numerous murders, I only know of three of them. He intentionally ran over a woman named Diane Durkin. I don't know any details, except that he was driving a car registered to Reedman. I was contacted by Thomas Reedman, who today goes by the name of Liam Kendall, to dispose of two bodies. I called in sick at work that day and drove out to pick up the bodies at a cottage that Kendall was using as part of his drug operation. I buried the bodies in the woods about 50 miles north off Manor Road.

Then a few days later, two FBI agents from New York City came to town. They were investigating the disappearance of the woman that I had buried in the woods. I panicked and called Kendall, and he said he would take care of it for me. The next day, a sniper tried to kill the two agents, but failed. I do not know who fired the shots that day, but I can only assume that it was someone hired by Liam Kendall.

Another agent, Agent Taylor, came to town and joined the investigation. He and Agent Spade went back to the cottage and apparently found drugs there. I contacted Liam Kendall as soon as I could, and he told me that he would get rid of the agents and that I shouldn't worry.  All I had to do was make the drugs disappear from evidence." 

Jack checked the file that detailed the verification done by the field office. The bodies of Lydia and Sina Atkinson had been found in a shallow grave in the woods, exactly where the letter had said they were. Tire treads near the gravesite matched Rita Severin's car, but it was a popular model, so this was far from conclusive evidence. The two bodies had been identified based on clothes and jewellery, but had not yet been examined.

The autopsy report of Rita Severin confirmed her cause of death as suicide by self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Her body had been found in her office, along with the letter saved on her computer. Drugs had been found in her home and in her car. Jack closed the report. The facts did seem to check out; there was nothing he could say to contradict  that. Still, it didn't seem right to him.

Jack reread the letter once and then again. It was wrong. This was no suicide letter. There was no emotion; it was a collection of facts and some standard Lifetime movie phrases. This was not what someone who was about to kill herself would write. Someone else was blaming Agent Severin.

The level of detail in the letter suggested that whoever had written it had been involved in the various criminal activities the letter discussed. If he could find the writer of the letter, then he would be a big step closer to figuring out what had happened to Danny and Samantha.

This letter was perhaps the first real mistake that their killer or killers had made. They had given the FBI their location. It must be someone from the area who knew Rita Severin personally, someone from within the field office.

As absurd as the thought seemed at first, it would go a long way towards explaining a lot of things. Maybe the story told in Rita Severin's letter was true, but another agent had been the one taking the money in exchange for covering up the drug deals. Then after Danny and Samantha had started to figure out what was going on, the agent had to react quickly. They had staged Rita Severin's suicide, letting her take the fall.

But if his theory was right, then the likelihood that Danny and Samantha were still alive was low. They would have been nothing but a liability and they had probably been murdered just like Rita Severin, only in their cases, it could not be disguised as a suicide.

He sighed and glanced at his watch. It was late, almost 8 p.m. already. Maria was already back from work.

Maria. She didn't even know he was back in the city; he had gone straight to the to office after arriving from D.C. It occurred to him that they had not talked since the night he had come home after the car bomb. He had not talked to his daughters since then. The case had taken over his entire life. All he had done for days, was work, sleep and drink coffee, or so it seemed.

He was trapped. He knew he had to go home, but maybe it was already too late.  But he also knew that he had to go to North Carolina to try to get to the bottom of this case. If Rita Severin's suicide was staged, and he was convinced that this was the case, there would be some evidence of this. Someone had to be covering up. This person was the same person who had plotted the sniper attack on Samantha and Danny and was responsible for at least two murders.

He didn't feel inclined to go home and face the icy silence between him and Maria and the awkward looks from his daughters. So he picked up the receiver and tried for the fourth time to reach Agent Robinson. He explained who he was and why he was calling. Agent Robinson seemed to sense that Jack was not making a courtesy call. To be honest, Jack would not have been happy either if their roles had been reversed.

"My office already sent you our progress report, which is more than we are obligated to do. What have you turned up at your end of the investigation?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. But there was one strange credit card charge indicating that the two had split up. Can you tell me when was the last time anyone saw the two of them together?"

"As far as I know, they were last seen together when they left the field office in the morning. And they met in the evening with Agent Severin, according to the letter she left."

"Have you been able to find out when she died?"

"Around 8 p.m., according to the M.E. . Will you tell me what you're after here? This is my case, Agent Malone."

"Agent Spade's credit card shows that she had dinner at a place called Lucy's Diner around 7 p.m. that evening. It appears that she was alone. Could you please check on that?"

"There is no need. I met Agent Spade there for dinner. Her partner was still at the field office. But that is none of your concern. I am qualified to investigate this case, Agent Malone, and you are in no position to suggest otherwise. If there is someone who lacks distance, it might be you. I have heard of your alleged involvement with Agent Spade."

Jack had no idea how Agent Robinson could have heard about that. Probably from whoever in Washington had been giving him orders. This of course meant that the OPR investigation could start all over again, as his conduct on this case was already under scrutiny.

 "I have no involvement with Agent Spade. But she is a member of my team, and I will do everything I can to solve this case. You do not seem to realize that two FBI agents are missing."

 "I do realize that, Agent Malone. Yes, they are missing, but it is reasonable to assume that they are no longer alive. As you have no doubt read, the late Agent Severin wrote that the two have been taken care of. Given the validity of the rest of her statements, we can assume this to be true."

"From her statement, we only know that she informed Liam Kendall, or whatever his name is, that Agents Spade and Taylor were onto her. We don't know what happened next. I don't think you have fully reconstructed the circumstances of their disappearance." 

"Whether or not our reconstruction is satisfactory is not your concern. Good evening, Agent Malone." Agent Robinson hung up.

It wasn't that Jack had expected much else; he had worked on cases requiring cooperation of several field offices before, and trouble had usually resulted. But seldom had he encountered a person as unwilling to cooperate as Agent Robinson.

 "No luck?"

Jack turned around to see that Vivian was still on the phone. From his end of the conversation, she had pretty much gathered what was going on.

 "No. It just doesn't track. The day that Danny and Samantha disappeared, they were last seen together at the field office, when Samantha was making her statement regarding the shooting." Jack went over the white board and drew a timeline. This time, there were no pictures attached, but there was no need. Jack didn't think he could bear it if there were.

 "I don't know what they did after that, but I assume they drove out to the scene. Samantha had a follow up appointment at the hospital, so that's probably when they got back into the city. When I couldn't reach Samantha for the first time, I thought it was because she was in the hospital and had her phone switched off." Jack added the hospital appointment to the timeline.

 "I did a little checking on my own and called the hospital. Samantha had a four o'clock appointment and after that, she spoke with Dr. Reed, Martin's doctor. After that I don't know," Vivian said calmly. Jack wasn't the only one who had his doubts about the version of events in the report from Agent Robinson. Jack didn't answer, but added the appointment to the timeline.

 "She obviously left the hospital again and had dinner with Agent Robinson," Jack said while writing.

Vivian raised an eyebrow. It seemed unlikely that Samantha was in a sociable mood, and it raised a question as to where Danny had been during that time. If he had been at the field office, possibly with Agent Severin, then there would be security camera tapes to prove it. Those tapes might even shed some light onto when exactly things started to get violent.

At some point, given that their assumptions were correct, Danny and Samantha must have realized that they were faced with an inside job. But even then, Jack could not picture the scenario. If they had known something was up, they would have been careful, and they would have contacted him. But fact was that both had been unreachable the entire evening, even though Samantha had been seen after 7 p.m. The entire timeline just didn't fit.

 "There has to be something we're missing." Vivian spoke what was on Jack's mind. "But we're not going to find it tonight. The agents from the field office will have to sort that out."

 "I know." Jack sighed. "It's just very difficult just to sit by and do nothing."

Vivian just nodded. She felt the frustration, but knew that there was nothing she could do. It was late, and there were people at home who needed her. She didn't envy Jack in the slightest.


	13. 12

_Jack Malone's apartment, New York City****_

_December 9, 6.30 p.m._

Work had been his familiar routine for two decades, and aside from the two weeks yearly vacation, he had never taken a break from it. Now he found himself faced with the task of settling into an entirely new situation. The days stretched so much longer, now that he didn't have to go to work anymore. He had taken leave until the investigation was over. It was not going well for him.  A hearing had been set for the next week, and Jack doubted that it would turn out well for him.

Taking leave was the hardest thing he had done in a long time, and the decision had not come easily. He still felt that he should not have abandoned the search for Samantha, even though the voice of reason told him that he had done all he could. It hadn't been his call to make. Even though their affair had been over for half a year, he had lost more than a friend in Samantha---he had lost a woman that he had loved.

Vivian had called and told him that she was coming by this evening. He hadn't been here and had only found her message on the answering machine. She hadn't said what the reason for her visit was, but he doubted it was good news. They had probably called off the search.  It was about time; he knew that from professional experience.

Jack couldn't tell whether Vivian blamed him. Her demeanour was the same as ever---professional. Maybe a bit too professional.

"We cleaned out their desks," she said as she sat down the cardboard box on the table.

"We've contacted her mother, but she wanted nothing to do with it, so I thought you might like to keep her things for the time being."

It was more than that. He was certain that Vivian knew what had been between him and Sam.'   She knew and respected what she meant to him.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"We also found this." Vivian didn't look up when she handed him a plastic bag. He would have recognized the contents.  It was Samantha's wallet, along with her FBI badge. They looked weathered, as if they had been exposed to the elements for a while.

How could that be? He looked at Vivian questioningly, not needing to spell it out.

"The search teams found those at a roadside on the outside of the search perimeter. There were traces of blood on them. We tested the blood on them, and the report indicates that it was the blood of both Sam and Danny. That was one of the reasons that we broke up the search. It's impossible to tell how long they have been lying at the roadside, but forensics put it at least several days, going by the weather conditions in the area. The badges were probably tossed the day they disappeared." Vivian sounded factual, but she was fighting to keep her composure.

Possibilities started to unfold in Jack's mind:  scenarios filled with hope alongside scenarios filled with despair. They could have been kidnapped, they could still be alive.  But why would they be?  There had been no demand, no confessions, no apparent political background. They could have been killed immediately---their bodies disposed of and the badges tossed out of the window of a car. That was by far the more likely scenario of the two.

Vivian left without a word; she knew that Jack needed time alone to think. He didn't even realize that she was gone until he heard the door close.

Jack sat down at the table. The box was sitting right in front of him. Sam wasn't coming back---the box had that sentence written all over it.  The thought echoed in his mind.  He took a deep breath and opened the lid.

There wasn't much in the box. She hadn't kept many personal things in her office:  her coffee mug, plain and black, nothing written on it, simple but elegant and functional at the same time;  her planner. He didn't open it. It seemed wrong. He put it to the side, and a piece of paper fell out. He hesitated for a second, then picked it up. It was creased, like it had been folded and unfolded many times. He saw that the piece of paper was a flyer with information about an old missing persons case, that of a Steven Marcus.

Sam couldn't have worked on this case. She must have been around 15 years old when it had happened. He wasn't sure, but if he recalled correctly, she had grown up in the same county. This might have happened right in her neighbourhood. But still, why had she kept the flyer for all those years? Something must have made the case special to her. He wondered whether it had ever been solved. Probably not. The best that happened in cases like that was that eventually a body turned up, but many people remained missing forever. Few were found after the first 48 hours. There were exceptions, of course. Chet's Collins had been reunited with his son after five years, but that was rare. Most families realized that and eventually let go. What had happened to the family of Steven Marcus? Had they also eventually moved on and learned to somehow live with the fact that their son was gone, or had they desperately clung to the hope to see him again? By now, Steven would be on the verge of adulthood. His peers were going to college now. He probably never had the chance to grow up. It wasn't fair that children like Steven Marcus fell victim to twisted criminals; it wasn't fair that good, loyal agents like Danny and Sam just disappeared. Like Steven, the likelihood that they had met with ill fate was high---the professional in him knew that.

The flyer was worn---pierced by several pins over time---it have moved from desk to desk along with Sam. For some reason, she had never thrown it away. In a way, that was Sam clinging to the past. He didn't know how the case was special to her, but she had preserved it. She had hardly ever talked about the past, aside from the casual mention. In spite of her no-regrets pretences, he had not quite believed in her façade. But he had known better than to pry. He of all people knew that it was usually better if the past stayed in the past. Dragging it back out into the open was just causing new pain from old wounds.

He folded the flyer again. It felt wrong to pry into this, even though he wanted to find out what Steven Marcus and his disappearance meant to her. He had just made a mental note to ask her about it when it hit him that he wasn't going to have the chance. It had been such an automatic response of his brain to simply ask her the next day at the office, but her chair would be empty tomorrow---her desk was cleared, her name plate gone. It was all packed up in a cardboard box. He wasn't going to be back at the office either.  Although it had yet to take place, the hearing was fairly predictable in its outcome: investigation, suspension, probably dismissal was what he had to look forward too. He put the flyer to the side. It was not for him to know; he had missed that chance. He packed all the contents back into the box. He wasn't ready yet. It felt too much like an invasion into her private space. Maybe someday he would be able to decide what to do with it all. Maybe her mother would like it, although he doubted it. He put the box on the top shelf, where it was out of direct view. He had enough of a reminder of Sam without having the box in plain sight. It felt cruel somehow, as if putting the box away meant giving up hope. But there was a point where reality had to come into play. He wasn't quite there yet, but could feel that it  would happen eventually. At least, after the hearing, he would be thrown out of this state of limbo and would have to make choices, one way or another.

He hesitated for a moment before dialing the number. He had made that call many times and he had stood in too many doorways bringing people bad news. But he had never delivered bad news about someone he had known personally. He wasn't sure how to do it or what to say. Somehow the professional way in which he usually carried out these conversations seemed inappropriate. He didn't know what to expect. He knew that Sam was very distant from her mother and hardly had any contact with her. But he was oblivious of all the details as to why they had broken up with each other.

He was just about to hang up again when someone finally answered.

"Who is this?" The woman on the other end sounded tired and drunk.

"My name is Jack Malone. I work with your daughter, Samantha."

"You're with the FBI?" She sounded suspicious and certainly not like she had approved of Sam's choice in career. But after what had happened, that was understandable. To be honest, he wouldn't want his daughters to follow in his professional footsteps.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Yes, of course I know," she replied indignantly. "They called me a few days ago. Said that she was missing. You found her?"

"No, I'm sorry. We haven't found your daughter. "

"You won't find her, will you?" She sounded more resigned than sad, like she had accepted that she had lost her daughter for good.

"To tell the truth, the chances are rather small." He hated himself for admitting to it and taking away the last bit of a mother's hope, but there was no use in lying.

"There are a few things that someone needs to take care of. Also there are a few things I thought you might want to have."

There was a long pause and he was already fearing that she wasn't going to say anything.

"How well did you know Sam?" Past tense.  It pained him to hear that even her mother had given up by now. Maybe he was just deluded, clinging onto the hope to avoid having to face up to having failed Sam and Danny in the worst possible way.

"We've been working together for about five years, but I've also met her after work a few times."

"Good. I think you should keep the things then."

With that, she hung up and he was left listening to the beeping.


	14. 13

_Disclaimer etc. see Chapter 1_

_A/N: This chapter takes place after the events of the prologue in the first chapter. Thanks to M and D for their help._

_Somewhere on the road_

_December 10, __8 p.m.___

Jack had not paid any attention to where he was going. He had not looked at the map, nor did he recall searching the street signs for orientation. Almost without his input, the car had found its way out of the city and onto the highway heading out of the city. He didn't care where he was going -- he just wanted to get away, to leave it all behind. The lights of the city had faded and the night seemed impossibly black, only broken by the flashes of the lights of passing cars. It was unreal; time had lost importance. He merely kept going, without knowing exactly where.

He was following the path of the highway across the country. Night had swallowed the surroundings and had merged them into a black mass flying by. He couldn't see them and they didn't matter at the moment. The uniform motion of driving seemed to have the strange power of keeping his thoughts at bay. He wasn't going to stop, for he didn't know where and he didn't know what for. Time was flying by without any pattern to it. The neon green digits of the clock seemed to change arbitrarily.  
  
What finally stopped him was the blinking red light on the dashboard reminding him that he was running out of gas. Obnoxiously blinking, it yanked him out of his zoned out state. A little bit annoyed, he turned his attention to the signs towering above the highway, noting that the next gas station was coming up in five miles. As glad he was that he wasn't going to be stuck in the middle of a highway, he dreaded having to stop -- knowing full well that the thoughts of reality were going to come back full force.   
  
Reluctant, but forced by necessity, he pulled into the well-lit gas station. When he climbed out of the car, he was assaulted by frosty air. It was cooler than it had been in DC. The ground was dry, the air definitely below freezing. Actually it was not surprising, roughly estimated, using average sped and time spent on the road, that he must have come a good distance from Washington by now.

He refilled the tank, instinctively keeping track of his surroundings. It was a habit that came with the job and by now was so ingrained that it was an instantaneous reaction. But he detected nothing menacing. A few motorists were refilling their tanks, and he could hear a couple arguing across the parking lot. Finished with refilling, he walked over to the shop. On his way, he first noticed the big sign hanging over the entrance. He had no idea where that was, but as long as he was already here he might just ask or buy a map.

That thought was immediately followed by the inevitable question: What did he want to buy a map for? Buying a map was like saying that  he had some idea where he was going, or at least an idea of the general direction, but he was driving aimlessly. He felt like he was stuck in a bad road trip movie. He couldn't keep going forever. Eventually, he had to stop and face the world.

Suddenly, he was angry at himself. Things got difficult and he started running. Maybe that was also the underlying root of some of his marital problems. He hid at work, avoiding Maria. He  just evaded her. He had done the same when he was still a child, and he was in trouble. His strategy had always been flight instead of taking a stand. In some way, of course, he had grown and matured, otherwise he wouldn't be as capable of his job. But some of that instinctive reaction of the little boy was still left.

It  very well might have been part of the insight that he acquired into the people he was looking for. Many of them were running, running from abuse, running from the past, running from the future. In a way, he understood them. But one thing the job had taught him was that hardly anyone ever got away. Eventually, it caught up with everyone. He could already see it catching up with him. Nonetheless, he went inside and selected a regional map from the carousel, picked up two packaged sandwiches and several cans of soda from the cooler and went ahead to the cashier to pay for gasoline and his other purchases.

When he stepped back out into the icy parking lot, he spotted the arguing couple. They had gotten out of the car and were now openly fighting, oblivious of their surroundings or just not caring. He couldn't hear what they were saying; they were too far away. But he did notice when suddenly the argument turned physical. 

  
"Leave her alone." The imprudence of his move occurred to him the moment he had finished the sentence. There was no one around. The shop was at least 20 meters away and the shop assistant had been half asleep. He didn't have a badge or a gun.

  
"Who the hell are you? This is none of your business." The man spat in his direction. "Get out of here. You're coming with me." He grabbed the woman by her upper arm, pulling her toward him. She resisted, trying to loosen his grip.

  
"No, I don't want to. Just leave me alone," she protested, weakly.

  
"Shut up, bitch." He punched her squarely in the face. She screamed, but ceased her efforts to resist him.

For a split second, Jack was undecided, but quickly realized that there was no choice. This had nothing to do with him. She was being forced against her will, and whoever she was, he was not just going to stand by and watch. Everyone had stood by ignoring the signs when Diane had failed to come home to her children. Tragedies happened when everyone was willing to turn a blind eye. He took a step closer to the struggling pair.  
  


"Leave her alone." In an uncharacteristically confrontational movement, he yanked the thug's hand off the woman's arm. The response was immediate. A hard fist made contact with his face, sending pain through his head. He had been trained in self-defense as part of his FBI training, but that was long ago and admittedly, he was not in the best shape ever.

He must have screamed when the punch hit him because between a scream and the muffle sobs of the woman, they had captured the attention of another motorist who had just pulled in and gotten out of his car to see what the commotion was all about. Jack was trying to see through the fog in front his eyes, trying to anticipate whether another blow would follow, but luckily the thug even though he reeked of beer, had enough reason left in him to see that he was about to be outnumbered. Mumbling curses, he marched off to his car and sped off into the night.

The motorist, whose arrival had broken up the budding fight, had walked over to them. He was a man about Jack's age. "Are you all right?"

Jack nodded, his head slowly stopping its  frantic spinning. He glanced over to the woman; her nose was blending. She had her arms wrapped around herself, shivering in the cold and she wasn't wearing a coat.

  
"Should I call the police or anything?" the guy asked.

  
Jack wasn't particularly eager to get involved into any kind of investigation with the police. He was still under investigation, and with his leadership abilities severely questioned already, he had no doubt that Victor Fitzgerald would manage to exploit this incident to his advantage. Him getting into a fight was further proof of his rash decision and quick temper.

But on the other hand, if no charges were pressed, then another beating husband would go unnoticed and ultimately unpunished. He looked over to her, but she was fiercely shaking her head. He had seen this too often to be surprised. He knew that arguing was pointless and he was far to wrapped up to even try. 

"No, we will be fine." He answered the question.

  
"Okay." The man turned back and left for his car again.

  
"Thanks." The woman, who, upon taking a closer look, was younger than she had seemed at first, offered shyly. She wrapped her arms her body ever tighter, but didn't stop her shivering.  
"He has a temper when he drinks. He's a good guy normally," she said, apologizing in the way of her husband or boyfriend. Jack didn't argue, he had heard it too often. The freezing cold was making his hands hurt.  
  


"Listen, I really hate to ask," she said, not looking up. "But could I maybe get a lift? I'm stuck here." She wiped blood from her face, noticing for the first time that she was bleeding. "Oh shit." 

"Here you go." He handed her a tissue. "Where are you headed?"

  
"Raleigh. I'm on the way to my sister. He doesn't really want me to see her, but it's her birthday tomorrow, so he agreed."

  
"I can drop you off there," said Jack, not having any idea where he was heading anyways. The little detour wasn't going to make any difference. His headache was already throbbing, a result of both the sucker punch and all  that was behind him. 

  
"I'm just going to get something." He pointed to the shop. "Why don't you get cleaned up in the meantime?"

She nodded.

  
He went back inside the shop, buying a pack of aspirin. The cashier just looked dully at him, not noticing his growing black eye. People were blind to any problems but their own. Feeling resigned and somehow disappointed in the world, he left. He was finished here. In more than just one way. 

The nameless woman was already waiting for him outside. He was shocked by her level of trust. But he had seen that pattern before. It all seemed redundant, the world just showing him more of the ugly face he knew. Was there really any difference between the job and the real world, was it just that he got to see it all in more concentrated form? He didn't know anymore.

  
"I'm Jack," he introduced himself, as she followed him to the car. 

"I'm Ann," she replied. "Thanks again for giving me a lift." She silently got in  on the passenger's side of the car while he got in on the driver's side. He drove back out onto the highway, rejoining the stream of cars after a brief and brutal intermezzo. The experience was already starting to fade from the real into the surreal, like it had not really happened at all. But his aching head and the woman sitting next to him told him that it had in fact been real.

For about twenty minutes, neither of them spoke a word, both still busy sorting out their feelings in the wake of the incident at the gas station.

Ann was scared. She wasn't as much scared of Dave, her husband, or the fact that she was sitting in the car of a complete stranger, whom for all she knew could be the next crazy guy. She was more scared of what she had done and what he had done for her. The scenario like the one at the gas station was sadly not new in her life. She had been there before and it had played the same every time. Dave would apologize, promise not to drink so much and he would be there for her again. All would be good again, at least for a while. Until the next thing set him off.

She let out a sigh. In a way, her life was stuck in rut. She had only really seen this now, when the familiar spiel had been interrupted by this guy -- Jack was his name, if she recalled correctly. It hadn't taken much, but the mere fact that he alone cared had probably been enough to put Dave back in line. And now she had left without Dave, or he without her, as was rather the case. And she was sitting with this stranger in a car.

He didn't seem crazy, but there was no telling. He looked tired, like he had slept in his clothes. But his suit looked quite expensive, he certainly wasn't homeless or anything. He seemed sad and lonely. Lost somehow. He was fighting against fatigue. He had probably been going all day. The license plates. She recalled DC license plates. He must have been driving almost all day and night. Hopefully he wasn't running from something. The last thing she needed was to get caught up in anything with the police. Her parents had sued her for custody earlier that year, and the kids were with her for the moment, but she had another evaluation with social services coming up.

Suddenly, she was scared. She should have stayed with Dave, at least there she knew what she was getting into. But now she had literally jumped over the cliff into unknown waters.

She was hesitant to ask more about him. She wasn't sure how he'd react and it was better not to provoke anything even though he seemed okay and not the violent type. 

"Where are you headed?"

"To Raleigh." He sounded unsure.

"Business?"

There was a pause. She was already afraid of the answer, her mind plotting possible ways to get out of the car and not freeze to death.

"I don't know, actually. I'm not working at the moment." He spoke slowly, as if just realizing that he was without a plan. "I don't know."

"Fine with me," she replied because something needed to be said to fill the silence. Although she had hardly learned anything about Jack, somehow she felt a bit safer. He seemed to be too lost himself to have much of an hidden agenda. The warmth of the car and the comfortable seat were inviting sleep, which she had not gotten a lot since she had Dave had left home two days ago. He had not wanted to let her drive, but all the pauses had been filled with bickering. Her mind demanded that she remain vigilant, but she started to find herself drifting off to sleep.

Jack shot a glance sideways and saw that Ann had fallen asleep. She looked exhausted, blood dried on her yellow blouse, her nose swollen. But he probably didn't look any better himself. He hadn't seen his own face in the mirror, but it felt like a black eye to him.  Not taking a break, was the only way they would get to Raleigh by the next morning.

_Raleigh__, _North Carolina____

_December 11, __1 p.m._

"It's over here, the last house before the end, to the left," Ann directed him, as they slowly drove down the suburban street.

"Are you sure that is your sister will be home?" he asked, considering that most people were still at work at that time. Well, he wasn't and if someone had told him that two months ago, he would have laughed and declared that very, very unlikely.

"I don't know. But I have a key. She gave it to me in case I ever needed it. Never thought that I actually would, but it's coming in handy now." She smiled for the first time since he had picked her up the previous night.

"Is it this the house?" He indicated a generic small white house, which fit perfectly into this suburban neighbourhood.

"The number is right. The houses look all the same to me here. But yeah, I think that's it."

Jack parked at the curb in front of the neatly groomed front lawn. Ann opened the door on her side and got out. 

"Thanks again. I don't know hat I would have done if you hadn't given me that lift."

Now her smile looked forced again. Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked to the front door. Jack waited until she had unlocked the door and walked in before he started the engine again and made a u-turn.

He checked the now familiar green digits as soon as he had hit the highway again. It was time to think about what came next, as he had already realized that he could not drive on forever. Ann had been a distraction, to put it bluntly. He didn't regret doing what he had done; every person should interfere when they see someone getting beaten up. At least they should have called the police.

No, there was nothing wrong with it, but now it was time to face his own life's decisions again. He would need to get some proper food and rest soon. It was irresponsible to endanger himself and other motorists by falling sleep behind the wheel. He didn't recall any exact numbers, but knew he had read a shocking statistic about how many traffic accidents could be attributed to fatigue.


	15. 14

_Disclaimer etc, see chapter 1:_

_Somewhere, sometime_

The moment she had dreading, but also waiting for in a way, had finally come as the steel door was pushed open and two masked, armed men entered. She and Danny were yanked to their feet, and the duct tape around her ankles was ripped off. They were blindfolded and let out of the room. After a brief trip outside, they were pushed into what was presumably a large car or van.

The ride was short, but bumpy. Every little snag in the road sent pain through her lower arm. She couldn't see anything through the blindfold. Whether it was the lack of sight or not, the ride was making her nauseous. After what seemed like an hour, the car came to a sudden halt, and they were forced outside. It was cold. The weather was closer to winter than fall. A cool wind was blowing. The blindfold was taken off. 

They were on a dirt road in the middle of a forest. A masked man with a semi-automatic had his weapon trained on them. Without saying a word, he started walking them out into the deeply wooded underbrush. 

  
Even though they outnumbered him, there was no way out of this. With a semi-automatic, he could shot several bullets into them if they even tried to make a move. They stumbled forward until the dirt road was well out of sight.

"Stop," the voice behind her ordered.

"On your knees." The command was immediately followed by a kick to the back of her legs, causing her to fall over, and she was subsequently jacked up into a kneeling position

Sam took a deep breath. This was it, the final stop on the train of life where all passengers must disembark. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was just wrong. It could happen, that was part of the job, but no one ever believed that they could end up at the receiving end of a bullet, Even those who had been face to face with a gun didn't truly believe that they would be killed on the job. Even she who had taken a bullet before had still deluded herself thinking that it wouldn't happen to her. It was pure self-protection, otherwise none of them would be able to do their jobs.

 But now she was here, kneeling in the dirt, about to be shot in the head. Execution style, law enforcement called it. She had seen it; it happened to drug dealers and those affiliated with organized crime. A technical, dispassionate killing. Quick. There were worse ways to go. It was at least quick. She shot Danny a last look. His eyes were downcast. What was running through his mind now? she wondered.

Too cool wind sent a chill down her neck. The tension became unbearable to wait as the end was coming to its cold finale. Suddenly, the tension broke, tree heads spun in the direction where there was suddenly the distinct sound of a motor vehicle. Then all hell broke loose.

A shout, a shot -- she hit the hard ground -- then, another shot. She wasn't dead. The trees and the grey sky above her were the most beautiful sight ever. She looked to her side and there it was. The semi-automatic was lying only two feet away from her. Time slowed down as she pushed herself towards the gun. Her fingers touched the metal, and she gripped the weapon tightly with her good hand. What if she hit Danny? What if she messed up again? She had to try. It was her only chance to get out alive. She couldn't afford not to try. She rolled over, the sharp pain in her arm taking her breath away.

All her fears had been in vain; it was easy this time. In spite of hunger, fatigue and pain, all she could see was the target. She pulled the trigger and a shot rang out as her assailant dropped to the ground. She let go of the gun and sat up, then helped Danny up to his feet. He was dazed, but conscious. Blood was staining his tattered shirt. The new stain was spreading fast over his shoulder area. Danny was clutching his shoulder with his good hand, groaning in pain as she helped him to his feet.

Sam's heart sank. This was bad. She doubted that the bleeding would stop on its own. They shared a look, both clear about their situation. They had no time to lose, and they had to cover as much ground as possible. When their would-be assassin failed to return, the alarm bells would go off, and most likely someone would come after them. They had to cover as much ground as possible before anyone knew that they had not been killed as planned. Sam was about to set off in the direction they had come from when Danny stopped her.

"We can't go there. There's no road, just a dirt track. The drive wasn't enough for it to have been a road. There is no way out. They would be on us in a matter of minutes."

"You're right," she conceded, "but we won't get away very fast here. "

"We have to try." 

And they started to make their way through the forest, despite the cold weather and the rugged terrain and their injuries slowing them down. Nightfall wasn't far way, but after that, it would get even colder and harder.

Sam kept to the pace that Danny dictated. She noticed that they were slowing down, and pauses becoming more frequent. Her arm was throbbing, and her headache was making her sick, but she wasn't at the end of her strength yet.

They had been going maybe two hours when night fell, and they soon felt the change in temperature. Sam pushed her good hand into the pocket of her pants, but her fingers were soon numb with cold. In spite of the physical activity, the cold was getting to her. Their pace had dropped down to a slow stumbling through the woods, punctured by the frequent pauses. 

Suddenly, they stepped out of the woods and onto a clearing. Had it not been for their dire situation, the scene would have been one of extraordinary natural beauty.

"We'd best take a break," Sam said, trying to catch her breath. She eased herself down onto a fallen tree. Her arm was throbbing mercilessly. Every breath hurt. 

Neither of them spoke as they rested. Both were wrapped up in their thoughts. They knew the truth. Their chances were slim. It had been days, if not much longer, since their disappearance. The memories of what had happened before their underground prison were vague. It was like they were just beyond her grasp. But she couldn't afford to worry about them now.

First they had to get to civilization and get help. The rest wasn't important now. There was no telling how far they had been transported after being ambushed. Even if the FBI had covered this area in their search, any search parties had been called off long ago. It could be dozens of miles to the next road, and without directions, it was like playing Russian roulette. It was bitter irony: they had escaped from a hopeless situation, and yet, their chances were still minimal.

Sam glanced over at Danny. He wasn't in good shape. He was resting his head on his knees, eyes closed. His head injury was still causing him trouble. This was more than a simple concussion. It was getting worse, not better. He had tried hard to keep up, but he couldn't hide his troubles with coordination. He wouldn't be able to keep going as long as she. He was going to need help soon. Sam bit her lip. There was nothing she could do about it. She herself was running on borrowed time. 

She'd give him ten more minutes before she woke him up.

"Danny!" He didn't respond and she grew worried. She nudged his good shoulder, but got no reaction. She pushed him harder and finally Danny reacted.

"Mhmm. Samantha?" Danny seemed confused.

"You dozed off. We need to get going; we're still too close. We should try to reach a road by morning." She let the assumption pass unmentioned.

"Ohh, sorry." Worry replaced confusion on Danny's features.

"How long…?"

""Just a few minutes. But we need to get going again. I think we're far away now, but it's better if we cover some more ground during the night," Samantha urged.

"Yeah." Danny sat up.

It didn't look good, Sam could see that, but she didn't know what to do with it. The rules of survival dictated that if she went ahead alone, she was in far better shape, and depending on the terrain, she might have a chance to reach a road if there was one in the vicinity. Danny could hardly walk and might not even make it till morning. But she couldn't do it. Human conditioning versus survival instinct. Amidst all the cruelty she had witnessed and been subjected to, humanity still won out in her. Maybe it won out because of all that.

"Listen, Sam. " Danny broke her concentration. "I think it'd be best if we split up, go in different directions." His breathing was becoming rapid just from the effort.

"I agree." He didn't need to say it -- they both knew the truth-- but she was glad that Danny had made the proposition. She wasn't sure that she could have done it.

"We need to get going," Danny said, trying to get to his feet. Sam finally helped him. They shared a silent look. 

"Thanks. Take care."

"You too."

No tearful goodbyes, just two friends knowing that they were about to face the end. They headed off into the woods.

Sam tried to pace herself, keeping her direction steady, trying to conserve her strength by   pausing frequently. The cold was biting her face, but after a while, she hardly felt it anymore. She entered into the surreal state where the night seemed to go on forever. Without a watch, her sense of time was gone. She hardly felt the cold anymore; the woods at morphed into a dark mass, but she wasn't afraid anymore. Her thoughts had taken on a life of her own, taking her away from the dark and painful world. 

She hardly noticed when she fell. Suddenly, she was down on her knees and hands, having tripped over a root. She tried to get up, but couldn't. Her muscles wouldn't cooperate with her brain. She sat back on her ankles, planning on taking a break to catch her breath. She was feeling tired. More tired than she had ever felt. Sleep was becoming more than appealing, and the knowledge of her circumstances was no longer important. It ceased to matter. It was game over for her. Screwed up on all fronts. Her personal life hardly existed, she had screwed up her professional life and now she was dying in some remote forest. A fitting end for an FBI agent, she thought, cynically. Being killed in the line of duty was one thing, but this was laughable. 

She was finished. No one even knew she was alive. If she was lucky, her body would one day be found by hunters. In that moment, she gave up. It was too much of a physical and emotional toll. She knew she wasn't going to get up again. 

Danny…she knew she shouldn't have listed to him. She doubted he'd made it that far. She shouldn't have split up. It had been a bad idea. But it had been the only option available to them, she rationalized. At any rate, now it was far too late to second-guess decisions or have regrets. There was no point; it was too late to change anything, it was too late to make amends, it was too late for everything.

She had few regrets, but she did regret not being able to see the people that mattered to her again. She didn't get along with her mother. They had been at odds since her teens, but still, she wouldn't have minded to see her again -- to talk to her, to try to leave things on a friendlier note.

In spite of all the mistakes that had been made on this case, she felt the need to see all of them again. What had happened to Martin? She'd never know whether he was going to be all right. She would never been able to apologize to him, tell him that she was sorry that she hadn't been able to do more.

Jack. She didn't care what mistakes he had made. She had been mad at him during the long hours in the prison, and her thoughts had often returned to his actions, trying to find answers. She had been angry at him for getting them into this mess, for  blindly stepping right into a trap. But there was no point in anger anymore. She just regretted not to be able to say good-bye to him. She wanted to touch him a last time. The memory of their special moments together brought a faint smile to her face. Good times. Their relationship, as perilous as it had been, had given them advantages over more committed, permissible relationships. They had never shared a routine; she had no memories of grey moments fights over daily life minutia. They only had special moments, albeit few, but they stood out in her memory, and were worth every second of pretending at the office. 

She pulled her knees up to her chest, curling up as tightly as she could. She put her head on her knees, willing herself away from this place. Her mind readily complied, fed up with horrors of this world.

Warm and colourful images started forming in her mind, morphing into a dream, a wonderful endless dream.

Something pulled her away from the dream. A noise. She listed, but heard nothing. But there it was again. Motor noise. A car -- it was coming from her left. 

The prospect of being so close to a street gave her new energy. Her body was drained, but determination allowed her to push forward. Every meter seemed to have stretched to the length of a football field, but she pushed on. She fell several times, but got up again -- the thought of the road being the only one on her mind. She kept going in the direction where she had heard the cars. Finally she reached the shoulder of a road. Not a highway, but still, two lanes. That meant her chances were good that another car would pass soon.

Less than five minutes later, she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching, and soon after, the lights were shining around the bend in the road. A dark SUV approached on the road, crawling slowly as it appeared. Sam stepped onto the road, desperate to draw attention to herself. It worked -- brakes screeched, the car rolled another few feet and then came to an abrupt halt. 

"What the hell…" The driver was infuriated and came climbing out, but the fury on his face was replaced by shock when he saw her. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, as he carefully approached her.

Sam suddenly felt unsteady, as the adrenaline rush that had kept her going so far was waning.

"Please call an ambulance." She struggled with the words, as her mouth and tongue seemed sluggish to comply. The man was now standing directly in front of her, grabbing her by the elbow. Fear shot through her; what if she hadn't manage to elude her captors after all, what if they were still looking. Rational thought took over as the man reached for his cell phone and did as she had asked.

It all seemed to happen so fast, she couldn't quite keep up with it. One minute the guy was parking his car on the shoulder, then suddenly she was sitting in the back seat and he was back with his first aid kit and a blanket.

"Here you go. I've called 911. They are going to be here in half an hour." He draped the blanket over her shoulders.

"Thank you. Can I use the phone? I need to call the police."

"Sure." He handed her the phone.

Her hands were shaking, but on the second try, she managed to dial the number of the New York FBI office. That would get Danny help faster than calling the local police. She gave them her name and badge number, but when they asked where she was, she realized that she had no idea.

"Hold on." She turned her the driver whose name she still didn't know. "Excuse me -- can you tell me where we are?

"Yeah, about eighty miles north of Bryson City. How did you get out here?"

She gave them her location, and was told that they would get in touch with local law enforcement immediately.

"Thank you." She handed back the phone, suddenly feeling incredibly cold. She drew the blanket closer and wrapped her arms around herself. She was tired, and she felt like she hadn't slept in days. In fact, she had no idea how long it had been since they had been walked out of their cellar prison. It had been day when they had walked her and Danny out into the woods, but night had fallen quickly. It was still night. Thinking made her head hurt; she didn't really care how long it had been. All she wanted was sleep, but there was something that wouldn't let her rest, the feeling that she was forgetting something important dragged her back every time she was about to drift off. She couldn't find out -- it was there but she couldn't remember it.


	16. 15

_Disclaimer etc see Chapter 1:_

_A/N: I can't stress this enough: thanks very much for all the amazing feedback on this story._

_Somewhere south of __Raleigh__, __North Carolina__,_

_December 12, __7 p.m._

He found himself in that odd state when his body craved rest and was only held up by his racing mind. The voices from the meeting wouldn't leave his mind.  They resounded in his mind a thousand times, and each time he felt the sting of their accusations. He had been on the road for over two days now. The encounter with Ann already seemed like a distant dream. More than once he had wondered whether he was going crazy. The longer his frantic drive went on, the less he could imagine what he would do once he stopped. It was as if the more pressure reality put on him, the more his grasp on it loosened. He wondered whether that was what it felt like to lose one's mind. But far more gravely than the harsh blame of the voices was the guilt that hadn't left him ever since he had realized the scope of his mistakes and the lives it had cost. For the first time in years he didn't know what to do anymore; he didn't know how to live with it. He couldn't live with the knowledge of having lost his family through his own fault.   

He could live with having taken lives in self defense as part of his job, and he could live with cases lost due to his actions, but he couldn't live with having caused the loss of lives of people who trusted him with their lives.

He drove through the city, making random turns.  Random facades were flying by, neon lights were casting brief rays of light over him, but he didn't see them.  He just drove on, trying to escape the guilt that would continue to follow him every moment of his life.

The neon sign proclaiming cheap accommodation caught his eye. It seemed like a good idea at the time, so he pulled over.

_Somewhere, sometime_

It was the most beautiful dream. It was warm and soft. She wanted to stay there, not leave this place. She had never felt anything so good. She pulled the soft blanket closer, holding onto it, not wanting to let go of the dream. But a voice insisted on intruding--a female voice. She wouldn't leave her alone. Unnerved, she opened her eyes, finding a ceiling above her. It wasn't the concrete ceiling of her cellar prison. She turned her head, noting that the ground was still soft. That wasn't a dream.

"Can you hear me?"

"Yes," she managed, now slightly confused, trying to get the mental timeline in order. They got away, she was running through the forest, it was cold, the roadside. Images started flashing in her mind.

"Relax, you're safe. You're in St. Agnes Hospital in Annapolis. You're home now. Can you tell me your name?"

She looked around. She really was in hospital; she was safe.

"Do you remember your name?"  The woman repeated the question, not leaving her time to process.

"Samantha." The name came spontaneously, like a reflex reaction.

"Okay, Samantha. Do you recall your last name?"

Last name? This was ridiculous; she knew it. Of course she knew her name. It was right there, but she couldn't grasp it.

"I don't know," she conceded.

"It'll come back to you."

"How are you feeling?"

"Okay, sore, my head hurts."

"Do you need something for the pain?"

"No, thanks. I'll be fine."

"That is to be expected. But you're going to be fine. You broke your arm and cracked two ribs.

"My head."

"The after-effects of a severe concussion.  Samantha, I need to ask you a question: did you take anything--any drugs, pills?"

She was confused. Did she think that she was taking drugs?

"No, but I can't, I'm not sure, I remember. We just wanted…"

"Fair enough."

"The police want to talk to you. Do you think you'll be up to it?"

"Yes." She wasn't, but she needed answers badly. Too many pieces were missing, too much time missing. She didn't know exactly why, but talking to the police was good. That much she knew for certain.

"They'll be with you in a minute." The nurse left her alone.

She made it, she was alive. They had tried to kill her, but in the end she had won.

It seemed like hardly any time had passed when a two middle-aged men entered the room and stepped up to her bed. 

"Detective Tucker and Detective Wong.  We're with the Annapolis police department." The man showed her his badge. She couldn't read it; it was all starting to blur in front of her eyes.

"Can you tell us your name?" Hadn't someone asked her the same question just now. Something was wrong here. Didn't anyone pay attention to what they were doing?

"Samantha," she said, now sure that this was, in fact, her name.

"Samantha, do you know anything else--the names of relatives, friends, or maybe a phone number or an address?"

She drew blank on that one. Didn't anyone know that her head was hurting?

Were you together with anyone last night?

Together. No. Not like that. Danny. She had been with Danny. It had been cold, they had been somewhere outside. The image of a night sky above her entered her mind. Last night, a week ago? She couldn't tell. It all seemed at the same time.

"Do you know what happened to you? What were you taking?"

"I wasn't talking anything." That much she knew for certain. But something was wrong with her head. Accident? Car wreck maybe?

This was all wrong. She wanted to tell them, but couldn't. The words wouldn't come to her. She struggled, but fatigue overtook her quickly.

_Olan__ Inn, somewhere south of __Raleigh___

_December 13, __7.45 p.m.___

The room was cheap and worn, but seemed reasonably clean. He sat down on the bed and took off his jacket. He wouldn't be wearing a suit in a while--no need anymore. As much as his body craved sleep, the prospect was still impossible. He got up again and started pacing up and down, trying to find some outlet from his restlessness. He switched on the TV, but never sat down to watch. He didn't know how long it had been on and how often he had paced that length of the room when suddenly the newscast on TV caught his attention. A face--her face. The footage was blurry, but it was Samantha. He raced over and turned up the volume:

…went missing almost two weeks ago while investigating a double homicide with a possible drug connection…

The expression on her face--fear, pain. For a split second she looked straight at the camera. Lost, hurt and confused. The image etched itself into his memory. Pain and fear on her features. It tugged at his heart and made him ache. He has hurt her--not physically, but the hurt look on her face is his fault.

The FBI has not yet released an official statement. BTV will keep you informed. Now to the weather forecast for the coming week…

She was alive. When he had given up, stopped hoping and tried to accept it, she was still alive. He felt like he'd betrayed her by giving up on her, by not doing more to find her. But even without him, she'd made it. She was alive. The thought replaced the dark echo of voices in his head. Although the relief couldn't assuage his guilt, the load had suddenly become more bearable. Another thought shot through him. What about Danny? The report didn't say anything about him being found as well. But he'd missed most of the report. He started switching channels compulsively, trying to find a news broadcast, but nothing. No more reports on the rescue.

St. Agnes Hospital, Annapolis 

_December 13, __8 a.m._

Her headache woke her up again. She was in a different room, this one with a window. It was overcast, but it was definitely day outside. For the first time she noticed that her left arm was in a cast. The doctor--what-was-his name?--had mentioned that she had broken it. It was all fuzzy. She recalled snippets, but no coherent movie would form in her mind. She turned her attention back to her physical state.

The police had been there, something about drugs. The memory was hazy; no details would come to her. She was just about to press the call button when there was a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of a woman around Samantha's age. Her face seemed vaguely familiar, but Samantha could not place her.

"Good morning, Samantha. How are you feeling?"

"Tired." Samantha tried to feel something else, but nothing. She wasn't in any pain, but she was probably on pain medication.

"That's good. Any pain?"

"No. What happened?" She felt stupid for asking, but she really didn't know. It was as if there was a chunk of her memory that was missing. She had vague memories, but not nearly enough to piece together a coherent story.

"First of all, you got very lucky. You suffered a broken arm and twisted a ligament of your right ankle. Other than that, minor cuts and abrasions." The doctor seemed to want to add something but stopped. Samantha knew that this could not be it. She recalled not having been able to stay awake, but there had to be something else that was wrong.

The doctor didn't look at her when she continued.

"The police brought you in, thinking that you had taken an overdose of drugs. Considering your appearance at the time, they thought you were probably a drifter. The fact that you didn't have any identification on you seemed to confirm that, as did the blood tests, which revealed high dosages of several illegal drugs--most GHB, but also Ketamine and Rohypnol as well as various sedatives." Samantha was about to interrupt her, trying to tell her that she hadn't taken any drugs, when the doctor continued. "But yesterday evening we were contacted by the FBI, informing us that you had been subjected to these drugs involuntarily. They are the reason why you might feel confused at the moment and have trouble remembering. All these drugs affect the memory and, in large enough dosages, lead to unconsciousness. There is no way to tell exactly how long and to what amounts you were exposed because GHB is only effective in the body for 72 hours. Based on the amounts we did find, you were probably severely sedated most of the time."

Samantha didn't reply; there was no right answer to this. Although she now had an official explanation for her lack of memories, the calm of that was by far outweighed by the questions that it raised. What had happened to her during that time? What had been done to her? The questions frightened her almost as much as the answer to them. The doctor could sense her questions. She pulled up a chair and sat down near Samantha's bedside.

"We examined you and didn't find any sign that you were sexually assaulted."

Samantha was relieved beyond words.

"What I can tell you is that you were probably restrained. You were found severely dehydrated and hypothermic. You were unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours. We're still running some more blood tests. Once those are complete, I'll be able to tell you more. Also, the police will want to talk to you again. But I've told them that you're in no shape to answer their questions at the moment. Now, try to get some rest. If you need anything, simply use the call button to alert the nurse."

There was one more question on her mind that demanded an immediate answer.

"What is today's date?"

"December 13."

"Thank you." Samantha suddenly felt extremely tired. The conversation had both been physically and mentally taxing.


	17. 16

_Disclaimer etc. see Chapter 1_

_St.__Agnes__Hospital__, __Annapolis_

__

_December 13, __6.15 p.m.___

Samantha was awakened again by the sound of a knock on the door.

"Good evening, Ms. Spade. How are you feeling today?"

"Okay, but I doubt I'll be of much help." 

"It seems like there was a minor misunderstanding yesterday. I'm very sorry about this. The FBI has provided us with more details. We jumped to conclusions about what happened when we found drugs in your system. You must understand that we get quite a few cases of overdoses every week." The detectives from the previous night were back, appearing far less stern this time around. She no longer felt like she was a suspect.

"I'm sorry for the misunderstanding last night." Detective Wong repeated the doctor's apology. "We didn't have all the information yet at that time."

"I understand."

"Can you tell us what happened? From the start, if possible."

This question was more difficult than it might have seemed at first. It was impossible to tell exactly where the clear memories ended. It was as if bits of memory were floating through her head and she couldn't hold on to them. She didn't know where to begin her account.

"My partner and I had searched the scene of a shoot-out; he went to take the evidence to the lab, while I had an appointment at the hospital. I went back to the motel afterwards and later met Agent Robinson to have dinner." Those memories were fairly clear; after that it became muddy. 

"I remember being in a car with Agent Robinson. I think we were going back to the field office."

"When was that?"

"I don't know. It was the same night and it was already dark outside. At the field office, we met with Agent Taylor and another agent." Samantha tried hard to concentrate. She recalled standing in a small office, in front of a desk filled with files. She had been confused about what they were doing at the office. She also recalled a shot. Had she fired her weapon? No, that couldn't have been.

Suddenly, the grizzly image of the woman, whose name she didn't recall, lying on the floor with blood pooled under her head, appeared in her mind. It was she who had been shot.

"The other agent, she got shot while we were at the office. Did you find her body?"

"We did, but it has been ruled as a suicide. Did you see her kill herself?"

"No, she didn't kill herself," Samantha replied with conviction, as the details came back to her. "Agent Robinson killed her. He threatened to kill us as well. We had to hand over our guns and badges." She described the scene, as it unfolded in front of her mental eye. She recalled pain, cold and fear--being imprisoned in a dark space, unable to move, not knowing where they were and what was happening to them.

In a halting voice, she tried to describe their imprisonment in as many details as possible, but often her memory failed her and refused to cooperate.

The detectives took note of everything she said. Once she had finished her account, they had a few more questions.

"Did you maybe hear anything while they were holding you? Anything that might indicate the location."

"No, I didn't hear any cars or people. It wasn't near any roads as far I could tell." Samantha was surprised that she had never thought of that.  But she couldn't really recall any particular occurrence during her captivity for a fact.

"I know this might be difficult, but you haven't said anything about the people who were holding you. Please try to recall any details about them. How many people were there?"

"Not sure, they were wearing masks. More than two men. I think there were three. One of them had a foreign accent, but I can't quite place it. They brought us food and took us to the bathroom," she said, mentally going over the image fragments.

The task was trying, and left her feeling helpless, tricked by her own mind. The fact that time was just gone without having left a trace on her memory was unfathomable. Those two weeks might never have really existed for all she could tell, all because some molecule had played tricks on her brain chemistry. Hatred towards the bastards that had done this flared up in her. She clenched the bed sheets.

"Agent Spade, are you all right?"  Detective Wong's voice jerked her away from her inner troubles.

"Sorry, I'm having a hard time concentrating," she said, apologetically.

"Take as much time as you need. Did they ever tell you anything about why they were holding you? Any mention of a political agenda?"

"No, not that I can recall. But I really don't remember much. I'm sorry."

 "We know. The results of your blood tests show that you had significant quantities of GHB and Ketamine in your system. It's surprising that you recall as much as you do," Detective Wong said softly.

That did nothing to make her feel better. Even though she fully knew and understood that she wasn't at fault, she couldn't help but blame herself for not recalling more. Memories are taken for granted so often that when they suddenly fail, all security is gone because all one really has is the memory of what has happened. It was as if the present was now suddenly built on uncertain ground. She was lying in a hospital bed, recovering from an ordeal that she hardly recalled.

She doubted that they would uncover anything. If they had not been found for two weeks, a time span that seemed entirely unreal to her now, it seemed impossible that they might uncover any new information based on her very vague testimony. She knew nothing really. They had made sure that she learned as little as possible and the drugs had done the rest.

Her frustration was dampened by a new wave of fatigue. Even though she had been awake less than an hour, her body seemed to think that it had been twenty-four hours at the very least. She drifted off again to an uneasy sleep, unaware that the two detectives were still in the room.

_Olan__ Inn, somewhere south of Raleigh_

_December 14, __6.30 a.m._

He had no memory of having fallen asleep. But when he woke up, the faint light of dawn was coming through the blinds. He sat up, trying to shake off the fatigue. He checked his wristwatch. It was 7.30 a.m.  He knew what he needed to do.

He got up and took a shower before trying to straighten out his creased suit. But no amount of hot steam or straightening could hide the fact that he had slept in his clothes. Still, that didn't matter. No one expected impeccable appearance from a fired FBI agent.

He bought a cup of coffee and a sandwich for breakfast before setting off for Annapolis. Driving there would take far more than a day. Although it didn't really matter, he couldn't stand the thought of waiting that long. Somehow he had to reassure himself that Samantha was back for real and that she was going to be okay. He realized how pointless this was, but reason couldn't win over feeling, not right now. The only thing, he could do at the moment was try to stay calm and find out as much as possible.

Driving back onto the freeway, he dialled Vivian's office number. On the third ring, she picked up.

"Vivian, it's Jack."

"Jack, I've been trying to call you. Where are you? Your wife is worried about you; she even called the office."

"What did you tell her?" 

"That I didn't know where you had gone after your hearing. Now where are you?"

"In North Carolina. But that's not important right now. Is there any news on Danny and Samantha?"

"Jack, listen. You can't just disappear like that. At least call Maria. When she called me yesterday, she was about to report you missing."

"I don't have any details; I'm not working on the case. For the moment, the local police department is handling it and if internal affairs see fit, then they'll reopen the case.  Otherwise that is the end of it. I can make some calls and get you more information. I can't promise you anything, but I know a few people. I'll let you know."

"Thanks."

Jack was somewhat reassured. If anyone was capable of getting him some information, it was Vivian. He also knew that she was right about Maria. It was not fair to her. He had tried to keep her and the girls out of this mess. He had wanted to protect them from getting hurt. The day the car bomb had exploded, he had realized just how dangerous the case was. What they knew now made the bomb pale in comparison. He couldn't drag Maria and the girls into this now, not while the people behind the killings were still free. That was the reasoning running through his mind. He needed the justification for shutting out his family.

But while, it was true in part, another part was avoidance. He had wanted to avoid conflict with Maria. The job was his first priority; this was the point that would always be a source of conflict between him and his wife. They had drifted apart, but he still owed it to her to let her know that he was all right. Hannah and Kate deserved to know that he was all right.

He didn't look forward to the conversation with Maria; often, in spite of their best intentions, conversations turned into a fight. He would call her once he had been to see Samantha. Those few hours wouldn't make much of a difference now anyways.

_Somewhere, Sometime_

Relief. That was the first thought he had once he had assembled all the sensory fragments into a coherent image of his surroundings. All the pieces had come together and he had recognized the artificially lit, white room as a hospital. Hospital meant that he was alive. He had made it.

He had no idea how he had escaped the deadly cold night, but there he was and the how was not what mattered at the moment. He was alive and in only a moderate amount of pain, which was surprising considering that he had been shot, as far as his memory could be trusted. Even when it had been dulled by cold and blood loss, the pain had still been grueling with only adrenaline acting as a natural painkiller. Now, products of modern pharmaceutics had probably taken the hormone's place in his blood stream. 

He made the effort to take a closer look at his situation. The room was lit artificially, and the lack of a window made it impossible to tell the time. It occurred to him that he didn't even know how much time had elapsed between the night in the woods and waking up here, wherever exactly herewas. He had no memory of his rescue, and in fact everything after splitting up with Samantha was just a series of disjointed images in his head.

Samantha! What had happened to her? If he had been found in time, did that mean that she was alive as well? They had been going in opposite directions from the clearing.

_St.__Agnes__Hospital__,_

_December 14, __4  p.m__.___

After what had seemed like the longest flight he had ever been on, he had finally arrived in Annapolis. The cab ride from the airport to the hospital was trying on his nerves, but eventually he climbed out of the car in front of the hospital. It was only then that he started to question the soundness of his actions.

He had been preoccupied during the journey, worrying about his encounter with Samantha without thinking about more practical, down-to-earth concerns. He might not be allowed to see her, she might not be conscious; the police might be screening all her visitors. Too many unanswered questions were making him nervous. Maybe the committee had been right at the hearing; he was prone to make rash decisions without properly evaluating the consequences.

At least Vivian had gotten back to him: Danny was at a hospital in North Carolina. Vivian didn't have any more details to offer, but that was enough for the moment. It seemed like everything was on hold now, at least until he had seen Samantha and reassured himself that she was going to be fine.

In spite of his worries, he didn't encounter any obstacles. The receptionist gave him Samantha's room number without asking questions. Walking down the corridor, he couldn't see any guards. So far, so good.

He hesitated at her door. He wasn't sure he was prepared for whatever he was going to see. He didn't know in what frame of mind Sam was going to be, or what had happened to her during the two weeks she had been missing. He was afraid to find out. But he couldn't stand in front of the door forever, so he softly knocked and was promptly answered by Samantha's voice. He opened the door, but didn't actually step in.

Samantha was sitting up in bed, pillows behind her back. She looked a lot better than on the news footage. The signs of her ordeal were clearly visible, but she resembled the Samantha he knew. 

He tentatively waited, standing in the open doorframe when she didn't say anything or react to his presence. She just looked at him. The blank stare worried him; something seemed to be gone. He slowly took a step forward into the room and closed the door behind him. The noise of the door made Samantha twitch, sending a ripple of terror across her features.

"It's okay," Jack said softly. It was the first thing that came to his mind.

Samantha's features relaxed immediately. "Jack," she said, with the faintest of smiles.

It didn't matter how faint, it was all he needed to see. His hesitation gone, he walked over to her bed, and sat down on the chair next to it.

"We've missed you." It seemed wrong, but that was the only thing he could think of to say.

"Me too," Sam said without looking up at him. "Thank you for coming. You're the first familiar face I've seen since I got here." A pause ensued. Sam was clearly trying to decide something; she was nervously pulling a thread on her bed sheet, avoiding looking at him directly.

"Martin and Danny?" she finally asked.

"Martin is going to be fine. It will take a while, but he'll recover." Jack reassuringly put his hand on her arm.

"Danny?" she asked.

"He is alive, but that's all I know for now. I'm not on the case anymore. Local police are handling it."

"What happened?" She now looked directly at him in confusion and fear. 

Jack didn't know what to tell her. He couldn't explain at all to himself, let alone to someone else. There was an uncomfortable pause.

"There has been an internal investigation. I'm suspended for the moment." He didn't mention that it was just a matter of formally closing the investigation before he was fired. There was no need to upset Samantha at the moment; who knew what had happened to her. In any case, she had more than enough to deal with at the moment. Getting better had to be her first priority.

"But don't worry about that. It will get sorted out somehow. How are you feeling?"

"Weak," Samantha admitted. "Not in much pain, I'm on too many painkillers for that."

"Do you know how long you'll be staying in the hospital?"

"No. I think I forgot to ask the doctor." Samantha sounded confused and Jack immediately regretted having asked. Samantha didn't seem particularly up to handling practical matters at the moment.

"Is there anything I can get for you? Maybe some clothes or something?"

"Oh, that would be good. Thanks."

"Have you spoken to the police yet?" He felt stupid for asking, returning to business immediately.

"Yes. There were two officers here yesterday evening. But I don't really remember much. It's all... I don't know. It's all a blur. "

He saw that she was upset about not being able to remember. Shock, head injury? The possibility of the latter worried him. He needed to know whether Samantha was going to be all right, but he didn't want to ask her, for fear of stirring up traumatic memories. Without knowing what had happened to her, he felt like he was walking on thin ice.

"Shhh, that's not important now, the important thing is that you're back here. I'll find out what happened to Danny, I promise." He had no idea how to keep his promise, but there was no question that he would do everything he could.

"Thanks." Samantha paused, then continued somewhat hesitatingly. In truth, all she wanted right now was to sleep and forget about what had happened. But that was not an option. She needed to talk about it.

"Jack, why is the local police investigating the case? This is should be a matter for the FBI."

"Normally it would. But it's all politics. The missing persons cases are officially closed and your disappearance was never formally linked to the case."

"That is insane!" Samantha protested.

"Of course, but there was nothing we could do about it.  There was nothing I could do about it. I stepped back from the case after you disappeared." Jack didn't look up. This had been one of the chief reasons why he had felt so apprehensive about meeting Samantha. His joy that she was alive had been overshadowed by guilt that he might not have done everything he could have done and that she might have suffered because of it.

"The field office in North Carolina was handling the local search for you. All we did in New York was some background checking. I didn't think I could work the case with enough objectivity. I didn't want to make another mistake. I've made too many already on this case. I'm really sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm back, Jack. You did everything you could." She reached a hand out to him.

.


	18. 17

_Disclaimer see__ Chapter 1_

_Note: This chapter continues directly from the previous chapter._

"I'm starving. I think I slept through lunch, "Samantha announced.

"I can get you something from the cafeteria if you like. I also think there was a bakery just across the street."

"Bakery would be great. I need a good strong cup of coffee."

"Okay. I'll be right back." Jack got up and left.

It felt very natural interacting with Jack that way. Somehow the usual inhibitions generated by their past together were gone. The emotional roller coaster that both had ridden for the last weeks had affected the way they felt around each other. Coming so close to losing everything, including her life, had put certain things into perspective. But it wasn't just she who had changed, their situation also had undergone a radical transformation. Jack didn't really want to give her any details, but they were no longer working together, which gave them a lot more freedom. Truth was that it had always been the professional consequences that had stopped them the most; they had far outweighed moral and, in Jack's case, marital concerns. Samantha didn't know what to make of their new situation, but for the moment, she simply enjoyed being with someone familiar.

Ten minutes later, Jack returned from his trip to the bakery. He was holding a plastic cup and a paper bag.

"I didn't think coffee was such a good idea while you're still on medication, so I brought you hot chocolate instead." He sat down the cup and the bag on her nightstand. Samantha was about to reach for the bag, when she noticed the print on it. It was from a Canadian bakery and under the company name was its logo:  a red maple leaf in a circle of swirls.

The maple leaf—she had seen it before….somewhere important. It had something to do with the case. She tried to pinpoint the memory. A hand, she had seen it on a hand: the symbol of a maple leaf tattooed on the back of a hand. But whom did the hand belong to? She knew no one with a tattoo like that and none of the suspects or victims on the case had had one either. It had to be something else. She closed her eyes and willed her memory to cooperate. Just as she was about to give up, an image flashed through her mind. A hand with a maple leaf tattooed on its back had grabbed her upper arm with force. Now it came back to her with full force.

Jack saw the change in Samantha. Just now she had seemed relaxed, closing her eyes, but it became clear that it was not fatigue.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. It's just that it was so sudden." She sounded shaken.

"What was?" Jack asked.

"I …I remembered something…something about being attacked." 

That was what Jack had been afraid of. What he had feared was true. He had hoped that it hadn't happened, but that had been foolish.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"We were there. Danny and I were there when Agent Robinson shot Agent Severin. We were in her office. I didn't see it, but suddenly there was a gunshot and she was on the floor, dead. He disarmed us and tied us up with duct tape. There was nothing we could do; he had a gun trained on us. Then he called someone. He didn't say any names, but he said he needed someone to come over to the office as soon as possible. It could only have been twenty minutes or so later, then someone showed up. I couldn't see his face. Robinson made us sit face to the wall. The two started arguing. He accused Robinson of being too careless and was worried that they would be seen or that we would be able to identify them later. Robinson assured him that he had everything under control, but I don't think the other guy believed him for a minute. They argued some more; it was about drugs and a car. I didn't understand most of the references. Then suddenly, the guy grabbed me from behind and slammed me to the ground.  I must have hit my head, because I don't know what happened after that. But I saw something, when the man grabbed me.  I saw a tattoo on the back of his hand. It was a maple leaf. The bag from the bakery must have triggered the memory somehow." Samantha was fighting hard to remain factual and emotionless, but she could feel that her façade was about to crumble. Only now, when she recounted the experience, it became fully real and with it the pain became real as well. It also made her ask herself what else might be buried in her subconscious mind. If she had temporarily forgotten this event, then who knew when the next memory would surface? That scared her.

She looked over at Jack, who seemed lost in thought himself. She wondered how he was handling the situation—the loss of his career, the case that had turned into a disaster, the near loss of his team, the near loss of her. Maybe she was just deluding herself in that regard, but she believed that he still cared, but they had not exactly been on good terms lately.  Did it even matter? For the moment, he was here and knowing that made her feel safer.

_Parking lot outside __St.__Agnes__Hospital__, __Annapolis___

_December 14 , __5 p.m.___

Jack stepped out into the parking lot with mixed feelings. He had seen Samantha again, something for which he had not dared to hope for anymore. In spite of everything that had happened, she and Danny had made it. He didn't have their deaths on his conscience. Them being alive was more than he could have wished for, but he had seen the injuries that Samantha had suffered. Not just the physical ones. They would heal, but the emotional fallout from such an experience would be enormous. She might never be able to get over it. And he had to bear the guilt for that. Anger was rising up inside him, anger at those who had acted with such disregard for human life, who pitilessly had played him and his team so ruthlessly and had abused their power to willingly lead them into the abyss. He had turned it over and over in his head. He had tried to put all the little pieces together without success….until now. What Samantha had said had opened his eyes. The tattoo. He knew a man with a tattoo just like that. That must be the connection; he had been blind not to have seen it earlier. It all fit together—the drugs, the scare-tactics, the locations. He had played him, he had used him, knowing that he would go to any length to solve this case. And he had been stupid enough to swallow the bait, but instead of himself, this working for him had paid for them. Robinson was just another pawn in this game, just like Liam Kendall, Markus Feldman or whatever the man's name was. They had been in on the drug deals, but they had only been middlemen; someone else must have dictated the terms. The threats had started immediately when they had gotten on the case. It should have leapt up at him back then already. There was something more personal involved. He had to do something. He carried no more influence, since he was no longer an FBI agent, at least not until the end of the investigation. But he had no doubts as to what the result would be. He couldn't wait that long. All traces of evidence would have been wiped away by then and any chance of bringing anyone to justice would be long gone. Besides, it was all still just a theory. He had no idea what the true long-term plans had been. He had to take on the task by himself. He didn't know whom he could trust in Washington. Over the years he had made rather few friends there, and Victor Fitzgerald's opinion of him and his methods, especially since it had led to the shooting of his son, were not helpful. Considering his options, he got into his car and headed downtown. Case or no case, he had promised Samantha he would get some things for her and he would. But before he did, he had to make a phone call. He dialled the familiar number of his wife's mobile phone.

Maria immediately recognized his voice.

"I didn't think you would call. I had to hear from Vivian that you're suspended." Maria paused. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Something has come up; I didn't want to worry you. They found Samantha and Danny; both of them are alive."

There was another uncomfortable pause.

"That's good news. How are they doing?"

"They will recover."

"You went to Maryland to see her?" Maria's tone was accusatory now.

"I was in the area."  There was no right answer to her question.

"Are you coming back to New York? The girls miss you."

"Not yet. There is something I have to take care of first. It might be a while before I'm back."

Maria didn't ask any question. She no longer wanted to know what Jack had gotten himself into. There was a part of her that still worried that he might do something stupid, but the last few weeks had worn her down. She couldn't muster the emotional effort.

"Tell the girls that I love them"

The only reply that Jack got was the beeping signal of the phone. He sighed sadly. His marriage was beyond saving.  He had known that for a while, and he had just been putting off the inevitable. He could live with that, but he didn't want to lose his girls as well. For a moment he doubted what he was about to do.  He questioned whether it was fair to Hannah and Kate to risk everything for a case. But his doubts were short lived. If the people behind this were indeed who he thought they were, they would not hesitate to drag his family into this as well. Once they realized what he knew, there would be no stepping back.

_St.__Agnes__Hospital__, __Annapolis___

_December 14, __8.45 p.m.___

Careful not to wake her, he placed the bag along with the note he'd written in the wardrobe. Writing that note had been hard. There were no adequate words to express what he felt nor could he ever justify what he had done and what he was about to do. Either way, Samantha would disagree with him, but he had no other option. The letter was merely a futile attempt to explain himself and maybe an apology, if she would accept it. He had planned on just putting the bag and the note there and then leaving, but he found himself standing there, watching her sleep. 

Samantha's face, although relaxed, showed what strain she had been under. She had lost considerable weight, making her features appear almost gaunt (too strong?) and there were fading bruises and an already partially healed gash on her forehead. 

Still, she looked beautiful to him, but seeing her like this also hurt him. There was no way to right what had gone wrong, there was no one person to blame. He carried his share of it and he was going to do his share to make things right.  He was aware of the dangers and he knew how ruthless the people were that he was going to deal with, but nothing was going to stop him from going ahead with his plan. This might be his good-bye to Sam, the good-bye he had not had a chance to say before, when he had thought he'd lost her. If he was going to help her find peace, he would gladly do it. He took a deep breath and walked out, softly closing the door behind him.

_St.__Agnes__Hospital__, __Annapolis___

_December 15, __1.15 a.m.___

It was dark outside when she woke again. She was cold, but even when she pulled up the blanket, the chill was still there. She couldn't seem to get warm. Like in the woods, the cold was invading her body to the core. 

Jack had wanted to bring by some clothes. Maybe he'd left them in the closet when she'd been sleeping. She carefully slid her legs over the bed, testing whether she could stand. Her ankle didn't hold any weight, but she could stand when she held on to the nightstand. Slowly edging herself along the wall, she made her way across the room to the wardrobe. Indeed, two plastic shopping bags were inside. There was one from the drugstore filled with toiletry items, a bottle of fruit juice, a few granola bars. The other from a department store contained a sweater and a pair of sweat pants. She unfolded the sweater, intending to wear it over the thin hospital gown, when a white envelope fell out. There was no address and it wasn't sealed. Jack must have put it there. She opened it nervously. It contained a single page of paper. The note was short, only a few sentences. The handwriting was Jack's. If he couldn't talk to her face to face, then it had to be bad news. She had never known Jack to back off from a potentially uncomfortable situation. It was not like him at all. Trembling, she started to read.

_Dear Samantha,_

_I wish I could tell you this myself, but I can't. I should have trusted you more, but please believe me, all I wanted to do was protect you. Now I see what mistakes I've made.  Much of what happened is my fault and I'll do what I can to make it right and solve this case so that all guilty parties can be brought to justice. I'm sorry that I'd given up on you. I have to do this; I don't have any other choice._

_Hopefully, you'll forgive me._

_Love,_

_Jack_

She read it again, then another time and another. Although Jack didn't say what he was up to, she had a pretty solid idea. He was going to go after whoever in Washington was protecting Liam Kendall, the person who had stonewalled the investigation from the start. She didn't have all the pieces of information.  There was too much that she still didn't know about the time she had been missing, but what she had fit together. For some reason, Jack must have thought that he could do something.  Maybe he had found evidence of the involvement of someone within the FBI. The consequences of that were unimaginable. She herself had experienced how ruthless they were. They wouldn't hesitate to make Jack disappear. He must have been desperate to do this and now she was powerless to do anything to stop him. She should have seen that he was going to do something stupid, when he had been visiting her earlier, but it was still so difficult to think and focus clearly. It was too late. The way he had said goodbye earlier. He had known that he probably wasn't coming back; it was his goodbye to her. For the second time, she had lost him without having a chance to say goodbye. The last time she had been lucky; fortunately circumstances had helped her to escape a hopeless situation. But she doubted she would get that lucky twice.

tbc


	19. 18

Disclaimer see Chapter 1

Samantha couldn't find rest that night; she was unable to find a comfortable position. It wasn't just her body—it craved rest—but her mind insisted on keeping its own hours. She knew the letter word by word, having read it at least twenty times. She couldn't get it out of her head. As if repetition would get her any closer to understanding it, she kept repeating the letter to herself. But she was no closer to finding an answer than she had been four hours ago. It wasn't fair. She realized how selfish that was, but she needed Jack now. After everything had been turned upside down, she needed him to be there and not go off and get himself killed. Suddenly she was angry at him—for leaving her alone, for making her worry about him. What he had done was irresponsible, not only to her—he had no obligation towards her—but he had two small children and even if he was on the verge of a divorce, they still deserved him in their lives. He just left it all behind on some trip to find justice where there was none. She was alive and Danny was alive. All she wanted was for it to finally be over. She didn't want to go back there, but she would always be there now that she knew that Jack had gone off. 

She shifted in bed, trying to get comfortable with her arm in a cast. The painkillers and sleeping pills that the nurse had given her didn't work. She had been given the option to take something stronger, but she hadn't wanted to dull her senses. She had been under the influence of drugs for over a week, and she wanted herself back, not that dulled-out version. She suspected she might never get her old self back, but it was all up her. She didn't want justice, she just wanted peace—the same peace of mind that she hoped to bring to the families of victims. Even when there was no more hope, there was always the chance to convey some peace for the families and friends. She sat up in bed, unable to find rest. She got up, mindful of her injuries. Supporting herself on the wall, she limped to the window. Pulling the chair over, she sat down. The window didn't offer much of a view; all she could see was the hospital parking lot. Despite the hour, it was still quite busy. People were hurrying from and to the hospital, all wrapped up in their own worries. How many of them had gotten bad news about a loved one today and how many of them left the hospital with relief?

If she had never come back, if she had been shot and killed in the woods, what would really have changed? A handful of people would have missed her, and a few more would have gone to her funeral, but that would have been it. In her life she had formed very few close relationships. Truth was, there was no one waiting for her at home. She was estranged from her mother, she hadn't spoken to her father for over ten years before he had died, and she had no close friend in her personal life.

She must have nodded off, because the next thing she became aware off was a hand on her shoulder and a soft voice.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I think," she replied, slightly disoriented.

"You shouldn't be up this late. You really need to rest. Do you want anything for the pain?"

"No thanks, it's okay." The physical pain was the least of her concerns right now. She could feel the dumb ache in her ankle and arm, but it was nothing she couldn't handle.

"Let me help you get back to bed," the nurse offered. Samantha nodded in agreement. As the nurse helped her get back to bed, she noticed how weak she was. The bed was only about three meters from the window and it had taken her a lot of effort to get there before. Now she was glad to be back in bed.

_Annapolis__Airport___

_December 15 , __9.30 a.m.___

His determination had infused him with new energy. After he had taken care of the letter for Samantha and the call to Maria, he had started to make more concrete plans about how he was going to proceed. He had considered contacting Vivian and asking her to help him. He didn't doubt that she would help him, but he didn't want to drag her into this as well. If he was wrong, or if he couldn't find the proof that he was looking for, then it would be the end of her career. It didn't matter what happened to him—the final hearing would probably result in him being fired from the FBI anyways—but Vivian was ambitious and had chances for a promising career. Instead, he wrote a letter to her, explaining what he knew and what he suspected. In the letter, he told her not to get involved, but just in case something unforeseen happened, he wanted someone to know what he knew. It would then be up to Vivian how she wanted to handle her knowledge. It was not fair to place her in this position, but she was the only one he trusted completely with this.

Only when he reclined in his seat on the plane, doubts started to creep up on him. He suddenly doubted his rash actions, doubting whether it was not just a desperate attempt to assuage his own guilt. What if he only ended out hurting the people in his life. Maria was angry at him already and if it hadn't been ruined before, now his marriage was in shambles for sure. Samantha would probably be furious as well and might even blame herself. At the moment, rest was what she needed the most and his upsetting her was definitely ill-timed. It was not fair for him to leave her alone, but he didn't have a choice. It was the only way he could right the wrong he'd done. But what if he didn't succeed, what if there was no proof and it was all a figment of his imagination, the voice in his head reminded him. He also knew that he had nothing left to lose. Still that didn't make it right; this wasn't about justice anymore, and this was about him and his guilt. In a lucid moment he saw that, but it was too late to turn back now. Victor Fitzgerald was not a man he would normally seek out. But as much as he loathed the man on a personal level, he wielded considerable influence. And from when he had spoken last, he was the last person who would want the case covered up. He could only hope that Victor Fitzgerald would let go of his political ambitions long enough to help him, that was if he conceded to speak to him in the first place. He still considered Jack to be indirectly responsible for the shooting. But the man was his best bet, now that he could no longer reach his other sources in Washington.

_St.__Agnes__Hospital__, __Annapolis___

_December 15, __10 a.m.___

After what seemed like an impossibly short night, Samantha was awakened early by the hospital routine.

We would like to keep you here for another day to make sure that you're stable enough for transport, then you'll be transferred to Mercy Hospital in New York City. You'll probably have to stay for a few more days before you're released home. There you'll also be able to consult an orthopaedic surgeon. The fracture of your arm is quite complicated; you might have to have bones set. We didn't want to risk because of the drugs that were still in your system."

Samantha nodded. The prospect of having to have surgery for her arm scared her, but at least the conversation had given contours to the immediate future.

"What about my memory? Will it come back?"

"That is hard to say. But in your case, most of it will not return. The drugs you were subjected to inhibit the formation of new memories, so events that took place while you were under the influence were never recorded in your brain. The part of memory loss that is due to shock and trauma might reverse partially, but there are no guarantees," the doctor explained. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"Yes, where can I find out whether someone is a patient here?"

"Give me the name and I'll get the information for you."

"Danny Taylor."

"I'll check whether he is a patient here."

"Thank you."

Samantha was feeling both nervous and happy. Danny was here, in the same hospital. The nurse had given her his room number. Now she was on her way down to visit him. The nurse was pushing her in a wheelchair, as she wasn't up to walking around yet.

"I'll be fine from here on."

"Sure." The nurse left her in front of the door. Samantha knocked, feeling a little bit apprehensive. She wasn't sure what to expect and, in a way, coming face to face with Danny was another step towards accepting what had happened as reality.

The knocking was answered with a familiar voice. Samantha opened the door and wheeled herself inside.

"Do I look this bad?"

"No, you just don't look your healthiest." Truth was that Danny looked horrible.

"Neither do you," Danny replied. Until now, she hadn't given this any thought. She hadn't seen herself in a mirror since getting to the hospital.

"Have you talked to the police yet'?"

"Yes, but I really wasn't much of a help. I don't remember much at all," Danny said sadly.

"I don't recall much either. I talked to the doctor this morning. He said that some of the memory might come back, but most of it is gone for good."

There was a silent moment between them. Both enjoyed the relief that the other was indeed alive and would eventually recover. Danny seemed fatigued, so Samantha was about to leave when Danny halted her.

"Thank you for saving my life." Danny now spoke in a more serious tone.

"I didn't do anything."

"You told them where to find me. I never would have made it on my own."

"Well, if you hadn't taken the bullet when we were in the woods, we wouldn't have gotten away."

"I guess we're even then," Danny smiled weakly.


	20. 19

Disclaimer etc see Chapter 1

Note: This chapter takes places three days after the preceding chapter. This chapter also covers a longer time span than most of the previous chapters. I hope this is not too confusing. As always thanks to D and M for their invaluable advice, and to everyone who has managed to come this far.

_Victor Fitzgerald's office, FBI headquarters, __Washington__ DC_

_December 17, __8.30 a.m.___

"My secretary tells me that you have been waiting for two days. You have five minutes." Without a greeting, Victor Fitzgerald invited Jack into his office.

Not asked to sit down, Jack came straight to the point.

"I have information about the man who is responsible for commissioning the attempted murder of your son."

"We know who was behind the shooting. He's the same man who was behind the other murders—a drug dealer who goes by the aliases Liam Kendall and Markus Feldman. He is on the wanted list of both the FBI and the Interpol. The case is closed."

"You know as well as I do that it is no drug dealer who is behind that. A drug dealer wouldn't have gone to all that trouble. I think I know who might be behind this, but I need your help to get information."

"Tell me what you know." It was a start and more than Jack had hoped for. He had not expected Victor Fitzgerald to be willing to listen to what he had to say, but apparently he had misjudged him.

"Ten years ago, I was working for the Narcotics Unit in Los Angeles. The unit was led by Agent Ian Carlyle. I started to suspect that Carlyle was taking payment from drug dealers in exchange for making evidence disappear. I passed on this information to Internal Affairs and there was an investigation. There was never enough proof to warrant criminal charges, but nonetheless his reputation was tainted. He blamed me for ruining his career and had me transferred to another unit. "

"I don't see the connection to the case. Carlyle may have reason to dislike you, Agent Malone, but I highly doubt that he is the only one there. If that is all you have, then I was right—this was going to be a waste of my time," Victor interrupted him.

"A witness said that she had seen a man with a tattoo similar to that of Carlyle working together with Agent Robinson.

"Agent Robinson has not been implicated in any wrong doings whatsoever."

"We now have a witness, an FBI agent, claiming to the contrary. She clearly implicates Agent Robinson in the kidnapping and attempted murder of two agents.

Victor Fitzgerald was silent. It was clear that he had not heard of Samantha's statement. Bureaucracy was taking a while, even if the local police could be trusted to pass on her statement to the right people. And even if they did, there was still the question of the drugs' influence. Her testimony might not hold up in court based on the argument that she had been under the influence of drugs.

"I won't promise you anything, but I will look into it and see what I can do, after I have verified what you've told me."

_Mercy Hospital__, __New York__ City_

_December 17, __9 a.m.___

Another day, another tray of bland breakfast was standing in front of her. She eyed the food suspiciously, trying to figure out the best order in which to consume it. Not that the issue was a great importance but it was a task that would occupy her mind for a few minutes. She had few memories of the food they had been served in captivity. She seemed to recall sandwiches and soup at one point, but the impression was vague, mere fragments of recollection. Even though she had lost quite some weight, her appetite seemed to have diminished considerably. Never one for cooking, she certainly wasn't picky and ate pretty much everything—not quite on Martin's scale, but she was getting there. But as she scrutinized the food in front of her—orange juice, cereal with milk, and a small mass of something translucent orange with fruity looking pieces in it—all traces of hunger vanished.  Determined, she grabbed the spoon and went on to tackle the jiggle mass. The taste revealed itself to be bland and inoffensive. She then took another spoonful, then another. She needed to eat to regain her strength, she reminded herself. Otherwise, she would never get out of here. The truth was that getting discharged from the safe confines of the hospital scared her a bit. There was so much to deal with and she had no prior experience on how to get back to her life when nobody thought she'd ever come back—when, in fact, they assumed she was dead and gone for good. It could be worse; she still had her apartment. But it was not only the practical part, the prospect of settling back into a routine seemed nearly insurmountable, not to mention mending her personal relations. With Jack gone, she wasn't even sure where to begin. In the space of merely two weeks, the world seemed to have changed as if at least a decade had passed. And yet, it had all stayed the same; she just had not been around.  It seemed like the world had ceased to exist for two weeks while she had been gone from it. 

The thought sent a chill through her body and she felt panic wallowing up inside her. She wasn't going to go there, she wasn't going to ponder this, return to the void in her mind where memories should be. She shook her head. No, it would only get worse. She moved the tray to her beside table. No way she could eat now; it felt like her stomach was balled up tight. As her physical health was slowly improving, her nerves were declining fast and her fear of what was awaiting her was rising. She lowered the head end of her bed, hoping to be able to doze away again. She had wanted nothing more than to get out alive when she had been awake in the basement, tied up, her body painfully protesting the harsh conditions. But now that she was safe, lying in a comfortable bed, a very different pain was haunting her—one for which she had no solution. It wasn't as easy as taking off the chains that were twisting her muscles. This was a different kind of darkness than the one in the cellar, and she didn't know whether it would end. She just wanted to sleep. Luckily her body was still craving rest and soon she found herself drifting to that strange place between dream and waking where the world only barley exists.

Martin had not planned on making this visit. He had wanted to visit Sam ever since he had heard that she had been found, but he had not managed to bring himself to actually do it. He didn't quite know how, partly because he had no idea how to react to her. He had not seen her since the shooting. There were so many conflicting feelings when he thought of her, that he simply didn't know what he should be thinking anymore. Then suddenly, this morning when he had been at the hospital for a check-up, he had decided to go and visit her. There wasn't much to it.  He had gotten her room number from Reception and then had taken the elevator up to the eighth floor. But that was where the easy part ended. Now that he was approaching her door, he became more and more aware of his own uncertainty, a feeling he decidedly did not enjoy.

He knocked, waited, but got no answer. He knocked again, and then carefully opened the door. Sam had her back turned to him, lying on her side, looking like she was sleeping. She needed her rest, and Martin was about to close the door, secretly relieved, when Sam pushed herself to a sitting position and turned around. Her expression changed from sleepy to surprised when she saw him. He was clearly the last visitor she had expected. 

"Hi. I heard you were doing better. I thought I'd drop by, see how you were doing."

"Much better.  Come on in," she said.

He winced when he eased himself down in the chair. His recent injury was still painful. He had still quite a bit of recovering himself before he would return to work. Sam noticed his pain.  It was a reminder of what had happened and a reminder of what she had caused. He had been shot because she had failed at her job. She was supposed to watch his back and had been unable to react when it had been necessary.

"I'm sorry. I should never have allowed this to happen."

"Hey, Sam. That's not important now. It happened and there is nothing you can do to change it. You have more important things to concentrate on at the moment."

 He put his hand on her arm. She didn't even seem to notice. He didn't know the extent of what had happened. Since he had been on medical leave, things had fallen apart at work, and he had been out of the loop with regard to the case.  Most of what he knew he had learned from Danny. But facts weren't what mattered right now. He didn't regret that he had finally made up his mind. They had both needed this. Both carried their share of guilt. Sam felt guilty for her reaction in the field, and he felt guilty for having been angry with her. His anger had dissipated the moment she had gone missing, yet he still felt bad for having thought so in the first place, even if it was a perfectly untreatable reaction. 

"If there is anything I can do, let me know."  Martin turned, his hand already on the door handle.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

She had played the conversation with Martin a few times in her head.  The day after the shooting it had been on her mind constantly; every scenario she had explored had been filled with guilt.  She looked up. Her guilt would always linger, but she was relieved that Martin didn't hold blame. In fact, it surprised her, as she in his place would be angry about her irresponsibility. She was too tired to figure out the intricacies of this.

_Mercy Hospital__, __New York__ City_

_December 17, __3 p.m.___

Of all the people she had even vaguely considered as potential visors, she would never have thought that she would come and visit her. Yet, when she saw her in the doorframe, she was glad in a way. She had never thought that the sight of her mother could produce that reaction in her. She had considered all feelings towards family to have been dead for a long time.

"Samantha."

"Mom"

"They told me what happened. They said that you wouldn't come back, but then yesterday they called me, telling me that you were in the hospital."

"I'm happy to see you too." It was her voice, but she didn't know what made her say it. She had not talked to her mother for almost a year, since last Christmas to be exact. She wasn't even sure when she had last seen her, probably at her father's funeral, six years ago.

"Come in." Her mother hesitantly followed her invitation, taking a seat.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes, my arm will heal. I'm probably getting out by the end of the week. But I'll have some physiotherapy before I get everything back to working order."

"Will you go back to that job?" her mother asked.

"I don't know. I honestly don't." There she had said it. What she had barely been able to admit to herself, she had told her mother, of all people.

"You do whatever makes you happy," her mother sighed.

Sam was surprised by the insight. That view was new. The next half hour floated by in harmless chatter.

They avoided all areas of conflict. Years of fighting had taught them which issues best to avoid. That reduced their conversation somewhat to the superficial, but being in each other's presence was what they needed right now. It might be too late to mend their relationship—too many years of hurt feelings and mistakes had passed—but they were still mother and daughter. Being distant from the people in her life, she still had spent 18 years with her mother.

"Bye, Sam. Be sure to phone sometime" They both knew that they wouldn't see each other for a long time. The gap between them would never be bridged. For the first time in years, this made Sam sad, but—in a way—happy as well. She had been given another chance to do things that she might have missed.

Sam sat on her bed, for the first time in weeks dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Wearing normal clothes felt off, not only because she hardly ever got a chance to dress casually, but also because it had simply been a while. The fabric felt constricting to her, adding to her nervousness. Vivian had agreed to pick her up and drive her to her apartment

The hospital routine had sheltered her, kept her busy with visitations, physical therapy and even several group meetings, which she had attended—albeit silently. All those planned activities and visitors had kept her mind off thinking about what was going to happen next. The re-entry into normal life was what scared her. What was normal life? It would be a while before she could return to work and at the moment, the possibility that she would ever feel ready for it seemed remote.  Even just establishing her daily routine suddenly seemed daunting. She had not led a normal life for almost a month now. And even the weeks before she had been more pretending to live a normal life than really doing it. Her rational self told her that it was ridiculous. She had survived in an extreme situation, had acted rationally and calmly where most people wouldn't have. She had come back when everyone had given up on her already. Yet she was scared of going back to her normal, peaceful life. But it was also a lonely life, where her work was the central focus. With that part of the equation disappearing, everything would come out of balance. 

~~five days later~

_Hotel Costos, __Washington__DC___

_December 22, __10 a.m.___

Even after the somewhat promising conversation with Victor Fitzgerald, jack had still had its doubts about whether he could really expect some help with his enquiry into Agent Robinson's background. Those doubts were erased when he had returned to the hotel after a walk and found a thick folder waiting for him at the reception. The folder contained copies of Agent Robinson's file, as well as of files of cases that Agent Robinson had investigated over the last two years. Jack wasn't sure whether he'd be able to find anything solid in there, but it was a start. It also gave him something to occupy his mind. As Christmas came closer, the sensation of missing his family grew daily. But returning wasn't a question. The last thing Hannah and Kate needed now were their parents fighting constantly and there was no question that this was exactly what would happen between him and Maria.

Samantha Spade's Apartment Complex 

_December 22, __1 p.m.___

She had left Vivian at the corner, insisting to walk the last block to her apartment. She needed a little space. The busyness of the city seemed worse than ever, the noise making her head hurt. She had never been so acutely aware of the sheer number of cars and pedestrian population in the congested streets. It felt like she had been gone for years, instead just over one month. It suddenly occurred to her that she was lucky. Her mother had not sold her apartment, even though there had been practically no hope that she would come back. Vivian had brought her a backup key from her landlord. Her own key was gone; it had disappeared along with her clothes when they had been kidnapped. She stepped into the entrance hall, immediately noticing that the doorman was staring at her. Even in an anonymous place like this, rumours had probably reached her neighbours. And she didn't exactly look her best at the moment either. She tried to wear a confident smile as she passed the doorman and climbed up the stairs to her apartment on the second floor. She struggled with opening the door with just one hand, but then she stood in her apartment. The air was musty, but everything looked exactly like when she had left it. It was as if she had never been gone. But what impact had her disappearance had really? Her mother wouldn't have known if the FBI hadn't informed her. But even when she thought about it, she couldn't come up with anyone aside from her co-workers at the FBI who would have missed her. She had no close friends, and none of her occasional dates knew her well enough to miss her. She was just another anonymous face in the city—she went to work, she went to the gym, she went out to dinner and then she went home. What would have happened if she hadn't come back? Her mother would have sold her apartment, the FBI would have found a replacement for her and everyone would have moved on. And what had she come back to?  Her job to which she might never actively return. She sat down on the couch, suddenly devoid of all energy. It all seemed so bleak and hopeless. She sat there, not moving until long after night had fallen and darkness covered her apartment.


	21. 20

_Disclaimer etc see Chapter 1_

_Hotel Costos, __Washington__DC___

_December 23, __6.20 a.m.___

Jack rubbed his eyes. His neck and back were sore. Only now, he realized that he had fallen asleep slumped over his desk. He had been reading files until late into the night, making copious notes of anything that stood out to him. There was plenty to suggest that Agent Robinson was dirty, but that he had known already. While a court might reject Samantha's testimony, he believed that Agent Robinson had indeed murdered Agent Rita Severin and then disguised his crime as a suicide. The forensic report of the crime scene and the autopsy transcript only confirmed his suspicions. The report was brief. The cause of death was a gunshot wound to the head, but there was no mention of whether gunpowder residues had been found on the victim's hands. Only her prints had been on the gun, but that proved nothing. The angle of the bullet's trajectory was straight, but again that didn't tell him anything. Aside from Samantha's statement, there was nothing to suggest that Agent Robinson had murdered Rita Severin. He had no idea what Danny had told the police about what happened the night Rita Severin died. There was nothing about that in the file. There was only a copy of the preliminary statement he had given while in the hospital, and it mentioned only very few details. Jack sighed. This was getting him nowhere. He needed to take a more direct approach if he wanted to get Robinson and, more importantly, the people behind the scheme. There was no proof whether Agent Robinson had simply left because he was afraid that the investigation would uncover his secrets or whether he had been made to disappear just like Danny and Samantha. 

Jack got up from his chair, stretching his stiff body. The holidays were drawing close; if he wanted to get something done with the investigation, he had to move soon. This was not an urgent enough matter for anyone to leave their Christmas celebrations.

_Samantha Spade's Apartment, __New York City___

_December 23, __9.15 a.m.___

The next morning, Samantha woke up later for the first time since her return from the hospital. She couldn't recall any dream, which relieved her. She knew that she still had a long way to go, but the world did look better after a good night of rest. She had just gotten up and made herself coffee and a sandwich, when the doorbell rang. She wasn't expecting anyone and the person she spotted through the spy hole was the last person she ever expected to show up on her doorstep. It was Maria, Jack's wife. She had never met her personally, but recognized her from the pictures in Jack's house and in his office. Curious, but also alarmed and somewhat guilty, she opened the door. The appearance of Maria already put her in the position of the bad guy. She had slept with a married man. Maria was the wife, and she automatically had the moral high ground.

"Hello, you must be Maria Malone?" Sam tried to start off on a friendly note, suspecting that it might turn a lot uglier later on. But immediately after she'd said it, it occurred to her that addressing her by name was not such a good idea. If she had no personal interest in Jack, she probably wouldn't recognize her, or at least not recall her first name. But to her relief, Maria either didn't notice of didn't catch her on it.

"Yes. Samantha Spade?"

Sam nodded, wondering how exactly Maria had found her. "I wanted to talk to you about something, but if this is a bad time…" she trailed off.

"No, no, come in." Sam was still trying to figure out what game was being played here. She had no idea what Jack had told his family about what he was off to do. He had been rather cryptic in his letter to her.

They took their seats in her living room on opposite sides of the coffee table. Sam waited for Maria to begin. She had opened the game; it was her task to make the first move here.

"My husband phoned me to tell me that he had to leave for a while regarding a case. Since I didn't even get to hear from him that he had been fired, I was wondering whether you know where Jack is." The accusation was clear.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know where he is. He didn't tell me anything."

"Now that is interesting. It all started when you disappeared. Jack started acting strange…not just at home. He was suspended from work too because of it. He didn't tell me; he just rented a small apartment and moved out. In the beginning he called at least every night to say goodnight to the girls, but then he stopped doing that as well. I was about to report him missing when Agent Johnson told me the whole story. And now he is gone again. I think you know why."

"What do you want me to say? That I'm happy that he's gone? But I'm not going to say it. I don't know where he is or what he is doing."

"He went off because of you. He left his daughters without telling them anything. Why? Because you're more important to him."

"That is not true. I don't know why Jack did what he did. But he clearly isn't here for me either. I don't know anything more than you do. Do you really think that this is just a game?" Sam started to get what Maria had been assuming. It was preposterous, but a small part of her actually wished that it were true.

"Here, this is all I know." She fished the letter—which she must have read a thousand times—from the drawer in her desk. She tossed the piece of paper over to Maria. She didn't want her to read it but she had to. She didn't know why, but the urge to defend herself to a woman she had no responsibility to was overwhelming. She was angry with herself for it, angry with Jack for having left and having put her into this position, guilty about having caused all of this, and angry with herself because she felt guilty over something that had not been her choice. It was all upside down in her head, getting more unbearable by the second. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure—at least for a moment. She needed to be alone now.

"Please leave." Her voice was surprisingly calm considering how she felt.

Maria looked at her, a mix of resentment and something else on her face. She silently got up, put the letter back on the table and left.

_Hotel Costos, __Washington__DC___

_December 23, __10 a.m.___

Jack had returned from a brisk walk. He had hoped to clear his head, but it didn't seem to have helped much. He needed someone to talk with about this. Normally there was always Samantha and the team to go over matters, to discuss ideas. Now, he was all alone in this. He needed to figure this out by himself. 

There, it hit him. This was a personal thing, so chances were good that he would be able to draw out Agent Carlyle, get him to make a mistake. Carlyle was out for revenge and so far he had gotten what he wanted.  He had pushed Jack to the limit and had got him into a situation where he had been bound to make mistakes. Carlyle had no reason to come out of hiding. His plan had worked well enough. He had to do something to convince him that it hadn't—that he had not had his revenge.

_Samantha Spade's Apartment, __New York City___

_December 23, __10.30 a.m.___

She rarely cried; she hadn't shed tears during her captivity nor afterwards, but now it all seemed to come crashing down at once. Everything had come unravelled somehow. Her life was in shambles and she couldn't see any way to sort it out, no matter how much she willed herself. It was hopeless. She couldn't work, she couldn't think. Restless, she got up and started to pace. She needed air, but the idea of leaving her apartment was even scarier than the prospect of being trapped inside, unable to come to a rest. She sat back down on the couch. It was paradox. She knew that it was simply a reaction to what she had been through, and it was normal for her to react that way. The meltdown would have come eventually; Maria had just been a catalyst. But her emotions were beyond reasoning, no matter how much she tried telling herself that she just needed to calm down. She couldn't take it anymore. She grabbed her coat, not even bothering to try to put her left arm though the sleeve and hurried downstairs into the street. Her hands were shaking, and she had no idea where she was going, but she needed to get away. Blindly she hurried along the street.  The noise was hurting her…it was all too fast…she had to keep going. It was raining, and soon her clothes were drenched. She couldn't breathe…she had to slow down. Her knees were shaking…she had to sit down. She collapsed onto a bench. She had no idea where she was, probably Central Park. How far had she walked? She didn't know. Slowly her racing mind was calming down, decreasing its frantic peace. Her surroundings started coming into clearer focus as order returned to her thoughts. She didn't quite know what happened. A panic attack? Probably. It scared her. It had felt so real:  the fear, the feeling of going crazy, of it all unravelling. She felt shaken and suddenly shivered from the rain and the cold. She started to feel the wet clothes against her skin. In spite of the discomfort, it took her a long while before she finally got up and slowly started walking, making her way back home. She didn't know how long it took, how far she had walked. After what seemed like a timeless eternity, she unlocked the door to her apartment. She took a shower and put on dry clothes.  As her body started to warm up, the entire experience receded to being like a weird nightmare. It seemed unreal, like it had been someone else and not her. In fact, she had always thought that things like that—mental problems—happened to other people, and not to her. Knowing that this was false didn't change anything. The experience had left her numb, as if her capacity for emotion had been exhausted for the day. The hours of walking wore her out physically as well—an added bonus, as she thought cynically. That way she might be able to go the bed early for a change, as a contrast to staying up until the early morning hours, like she had done on the past few days since her release from the hospital.

_tbc___


	22. 21

Disclaimer etc see Chapter 1 Samantha Spade's apartment, New York City 

_December 24, __9.45 a.m.___

Soreness greeted her. It was the first sensation as she stirred, somewhere in the realm between dream and waking.

 Her entire body felt as if she had run a marathon. For a moment she was actually considering that possibility, but then she recalled the frantic walk of the previous day. In memory it seemed even more remote and unreal than before. She sat up in bed, trying to find herself between the lingering images of a dream she hardly recalled, but could still feel and the challenges of the real world. Don't panic…take it slowly, she coached herself, the experience still vivid.  It was Thursday—physiotherapy at the hospital, and she also needed to go grocery shopping. What else? Dinner with Vivian. She had almost forgotten about that.  Nothing too bad. She should be able to manage; she would manage she told herself.  Yet the doubts were still there and would follow her every step of the way, all day, wherever she went. The fear of a repetition of the panic attack was there. It was classic: fear of fear.  She had read about that. But like everyone, she had never believed it would happen to her. She was trained to handle difficult situations. Panic attacks were for other people—those who couldn't handle life—but not her. Determined she got up, immediately reminded by her sore muscles how much things had changed. The loss of strength during her captivity was just one symptom of the physical damage she had taken. Getting her strength back would take a while, but there was no question that she would.  But would she ever feel the same again?  The answer to that question was much harder to find and she was not even sure she wanted to know. It was too early and she wasn't ready to deal with the what-ifs. Getting physically back on track was the first priority, she decided, as she got ready for the day.

If she ever wanted to go back to work, a visit to the Bureau's counselling services was mandatory. She knew she would have to go and see her eventually.  Right now, she was still on leave to recover physically. Her leave would take another few weeks at the least, depending on the opinions of her doctor.  According to her physiotherapist, however, getting her strength back would take two to three months. He hadn't made any prognosis yet about recovering full mobility on her arm. The fact that the fracture had been untreated for two weeks had invited a host of problems.

She toyed with the white card. It was made out of thick, white paper. It was plain, stating name, job title, telephone number, office location and hours. The edge was creased.  She flattened it out, bent it and flattened it again. She knew that the moment she dialled the number, she would have to concede that she couldn't handle it alone, that she couldn't cope on her own. That's what the counselling service was for, she reminded herself. Vivian had given her the card when she had picked her up from the hospital. She had not said a word about it, but had silently handed it to her. Since then it had been sitting on her countertop. Even before the episode in the park, she had considered calling to make an appointment, but had been merely toying with the idea. Since then, she had experienced herself how deep the consequences of her experience ran.  But she felt that she had to justify herself. Somehow the gravity of her experience seemed unreal. She had hardly any recollection of what had happened. She hadn't been tortured or gravely physically hurt.

Even her dreams were filled with reconstructed images because the drugs had prevented all the actual memories.  Drugs like that—often called date rape drugs—interfered with brain chemicals and prevented memories from forming. As far as her brain was concerned, it had never happened. She only knew of those events from what others had told her. She didn't know how to deal with demons that weren't there.

It was ironic that after the shooting, Jack had wanted her to see a therapist. She had resisted, honestly believing that she didn't need one. But it was so much different now. She had been able to deal with the shooting because it was something tangible, but her imprisonment eluded her, didn't exist in her memory, and she didn't know how to deal with that. 

In any case, any decision about work could wait until after the holidays. Celebration was the last thing she was in the mood for. Although, objectively seen, Danny and she had gotten improbably lucky, she didn't feel lucky at all. She didn't know what she felt and that was what was driving her insane. She didn't know how to deal with it all and now she had to figure out what to do with herself over the holidays, which were often hard on single people. She felt trapped in her life. Work had never allowed for much free time, so she had never made any close friends in New York City, except the people she worked with. There, she had an idea. She searched in her address book, and then dialled the number.

"Hey Danny, it's Samantha. I hope I didn't wake you or anything."

"No, no. I've been up for a while."

"I was wondering whether you would have dinner with me today." Samantha hoped that Danny didn't mistake this for an invitation to a date. But in contrast to Martin, Danny had never shown any romantic interest in her.

"Sure." 

Il Parioli, New York City 

_December 24, _

Dinner had gone well.  Getting out of her apartment and being with people was doing her good and distracted her. She and Danny talked about their plans for the holidays, the weather and other superficial subjects. They had avoided talking about what had happened. In a way, it felt good to be normal again. She hadn't felt this normal in a long time. Still, something was tugging at her. By the time they were waiting for dessert, Samantha finally dared to ask the question that had been on her mind all the time

"How much do you recall?"  She anxiously watched how Danny took it.

"Nothing. The last thing I recall doing was searching Liam Kendall's house in the countryside. After that there is just a blank. The next thing I remember is us being in the woods freezing, but that's just there in pieces. I remember that it was cold and that I kept falling. But that's about it. I think I'm glad that I don't recall anymore. It makes it easier to forget if you don't remember in the first place."

"I keep getting those flashbacks. I won't get all the memories back, but I recall quite a bit about what happened." Samantha paused, not sure whether she should talk about it. Danny apparently didn't want to know. She didn't blame him. It was his way of dealing with what had happened. She wished she could just ignore it as well.

"Have you talked to the police?"

"Yes, I told them what I know, but whether it will be enough to do any good in court one day isn't sure yet. They have to catch someone first and I don't think they ever will."

Danny nodded. He didn't seem upset about the prospect. Part of Samantha also wished that there would never be a trial. She had been a witness at trials and knew how painful it was for the victims to testify to their experiences. She didn't want to have to go though that ever, even if it meant that justice wouldn't be done. She knew that this was the wrong attitude, but she couldn't help her feelings.

Danny jerked her from her thoughts.

"Do you have any plans about going back to work yet?"

"No, not yet. I don't think I'll go back for a while. I just don't feel up to it right now. What about you?"

"Well, at the moment I'm still on leave; after that I'll go back and do desk duty. I have no idea when I'll get re-certified for the field.

_Samantha Spade's apartment, __New York City___

_December 25, __3 p.m.___

Samantha was aimlessly sitting on the couch, watching TV when the phone rang.

"Samantha, it's Jack."

"Jack, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, but I need your help with something. I'm in Washington and I think I know who is behind your kidnapping— Carlyle, an agent I used to work with. He has a grudge against me, blames me for ruining his career. He has the right connections and it fits the MO. This has been personal against me from the start. I think I can get him to make a mistake by drawing him out in the open. He must believe that we're still on the case. That's what I need your help for."

"Jack, you're making a mistake. You don't have any proof, but if Carlyle is really behind this, all you'll do is get yourself killed. I'm sorry, but I can't help you. Please, think about what you're doing," Samantha said. It hurt her to decline Jack's plea for help, but it was the only sane thing to do. Although she shared his feelings and wanted to bring those criminals to justice as much as he did, she saw that Jack was in over his head. Maria had not been wrong when she had told her about Jack's strange behaviour. He needed to step back from the case and take a break. He was no longer able to work objectively. He was starting to take too many risks.

"I'm doing this for you and Danny and all the other victims of those bastards. I thought you understood."

"I understand that you want to bring them to justice, and so do I, but not like this. Not if it means getting yourself killed in the process. You have a family who needs you," Samantha pleaded with him.

"Jack, I won't get caught up in this again. I can talk to Victor Fitzgerald with you again, but that's it. Maybe you can't win this one." Samantha hung up. It was painful, but less so than the alternative. She had done all she could. If Jack wouldn't listen to her, she couldn't force him. Torn between anger and guilt, she restlessly cleaned up her apartment. She didn't immediately realize it, but when she started to look for a suitcase, she knew what she was doing. She had really known since she had talked about it with Danny. She needed to get away, to gain distance and the calm to make sense of it all.

~two days later~ 

_Samantha Spade's Apartment, __New York City___

_December 27, __6 a.m.___

The twinge of regret was undeniable, but it was small compared to the relief she was feeling now that she had finally forced herself to make the decision. There were still fleeting doubts flashing up in her mind, causing her to ask herself whether she has really made the right choice or whether this was just a rash, ill-thought move that she was bound to regret later on. But the longer she sat there, the smaller the voices of doubts grew. Her eyes were burning from lack of asleep and from tears cried during this long night. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. The weight that had pressed down on her in the recent past had finally been lifted from her shoulders, giving her respite and finally room to breathe. It felt good, almost happy. She smiled to herself, grateful that somehow things had seemed to turn for the better even though they had seemed so bleak for a time. She owed so much to the people around her: Danny, Vivian, Martin, Jack. They had all done more for her, each in their own way, than she could ever have expected from people she worked with. She was happy to know people like that. They were all flawed and they had all made mistakes—mistakes that had led to horrible tragedy—but they had shown her that it was not the end. 

  
The fear was still there—the fear of making yet another mistake, the fear that leaving behind the city and her life in it meant losing herself. But although it was there, the fear didn't get a complete hold of her. It wasn't all encompassing like the wild, irrational panic that she had been experiencing. The panic seemed to fade more and more into a nightmarish memory than something that had happened, waking in broad daylight. She knew that the panic could come back and probably would one day, but for now, she felt calmer than she had felt in a while. The flares of fear were intermittent as she folded the clothes and neatly staked them in the suitcase. |It was a mindless task, but occupied her, allowing the mind to wander.

The prospect of getting away had a calming effect; she was noticing it more and more now. This only confirmed that she had indeed made the right choice and wasn't just running away from her problems, as the voice of criticism in her mind wanted to keep telling her. This was simply not true. Getting away from all the triggers of pain was, in fact, the best solution on a rational and emotional level.  It would shift her focus away from the singular spot it had occupied for years without having a real break. Even the sky looked brighter as she let her gaze wander out the window. The sky was steel grey but it didn't quite look as dismal as yesterday. It filled her with anticipation instead of dread. She closed her suitcase and zipped it up. She didn't bother to check whether she had everything; she would make due somehow. She didn't know exactly where she was going to go, but it didn't matter. Once her head cleared, she hoped that she would able to make somewhat more coherent plans.


	23. 22

__

Disclaimer etc see Chapter 1

New York City

May 24, 1.15 p.m.

It was the same bench on which they had sat almost a year ago. At that point they had both believed that they had reached the end, that it was finally over. They had upheld the facade even though both had known that they didn't want it to be over, but that the world had forced them to because too much was at stake, Samantha had been more ready to see the truth than he had. That was clear to him now. It had taken a long time to realize. Too long. Would he have ever seen the way he did today of nothing would ever have happened If their lives would have run in the same quite ways that they always did? Maybe. There was no way of knowing, even though he had asked himself that very question in different guises hundreds of time, he was no closer to finding answers. The closest he had come to finding an answer was to see that it didn't really matter at all. No power could change what had happened. The challenge was in seeing that and dealing with it. He wasn't sure that Samantha had. Sure she had seemed like in the courtroom and later on, but although he had spoken to her they had yet to actually talk. Five months had passed since that icy morning in December and the memory was still as clear as if it had happened yesterday. He recalled every word of their last conversation. They hadn't parted ways on the best of terms. He scanned the crowds traversing the sidewalk nervously searching for Samantha. Deep down fearing that she would not come, that she would turn away again. He could not blame her. There were bound to be many memories here, reminding her of what she had lost. But the he spotted her, it was a familiar sight. Her hair in a bun, wearing a black coat. He had seen her hundreds of times just like this. She spotted him, smiled broadly and sped up her pace. 

  
"Sorry, I'm a bit late, I guess I didn't't think there would be so may people on the street. Like I could ever forget about the traffic."

  
"That is certainly not what I would miss most."

  
"Me neither." She sat down on the bench and he joined her.

  
Neither of them spoke, but the silence wasn't the uncomfortable kind. It was more of an understand which so often between them worked without the spoken word being exchanged. It was like it had always been, even though everything had changed, one thing it hadn't changed one bit. Their feelings were still the same. Not even Samantha's five month long absence had changed that. Jack still wasn't sure where they stood. She had come back to the city two weeks ago to act as a witness in the trial of the former Agent Robinson and several other people involved with his criminal activities. It had been Samantha's testimony that had played a vital part in convicting Robinson for the kidnapping. But that had been the only charge that had stuck. He had been found not guilty for the murders of Diane Durkin, Lydia Atkinson and Sina Atkinson. Maybe he really was innocent. That was what he had been claiming all along, but he had not offered the name of the killer. The man they had come across in their investigation as Liam Kendall or Markus Feldman had remained a mystery and would probably always be. Jack had his theory, but it was just that, a theory without any proof to back it up.

  
"So what are you going to do?" He didn't specify the context , leaving it open for Samantha to take the question any way she wanted to take it.

  
"I don't know. Samantha said, sounding a bit lost. I want to come back, but I'm not sure I can. "

Jack was immeasurably relived. He had missed Samantha, but he had hardly dared to dream of her ever coming back to the FBI.

  
"Samantha, if you want this, then there are plenty of people who'll support you and help you. Just so that you, the entire team would support your return."

  
"It's not that. I'm not sure I'm ready for it." She paused, hung her head then smiled. "You know, if you had told me a year ago that I would say this one day, I'd not have believed you. "

  
"What happened was beyond what anyone could foresee."

  
"I know, beyond probability, but every little piece set it all into motion and I never saw a thing. I should have realized what was going on." He said feeling the need to apologize, The guilt had not waned in five months, it had just been buried beneath the day to day requirements of life. He doubted that it would ever disappear. Samantha was right, she had changed. Even though he had only seen her for less than an hour, it was clear that he confidence had take a blow, that she was more reflective, quicker to question her feelings., That would certainly not stand in the way of her being a good agent. May be it would even prevent her from making a rash decision one day. But as much as he wanted to, he too had to face the doubts that Samantha was having, What if she would not be able to handle an event in the field. If there was one thing the nightmares had told him tit was that personal feelings made for poor professional judgment, he had once made the wrong choice and sent her out into a dangerous situation when she had not been ready and the consequences had been devastating for not just her but for those around her as well. He didn't want to make the same mistake again.  
"I want to try it, I want to come back. " She suddenly said with newfound recrimination in her voice, It was the determination he was used to hearing in her. It was the old Sam. Maybe there was less of a difference than he had thought. Maybe she had changed the least of all. But it didn't matter. He knew that he was going to back her up the moments she had said the word.  
"Good. I was hoping that you would. I'll talk to Van Doran tomorrow. Officially you're still on medical leave. You'll probably have to be re-evaluated before being allowed back in the field, but other than that, there should be no problems."

  
"Thank you." Samantha said. "Thanks for everything."  
  
"Are you free for lunch?" he had asked the question before realizing what he was doing. Given their history this might be a bad move, especially when Samantha was planning to rejoin the Missing Persons Team.

  
"Sure. I'm only in the big city for the day, remember Jack?" She said jokingly.

"Seeing her in such a good mood, especially now that the weight seemed to have been lifted, made him happier than anything had in a long time. It left a far better feeling than the semi-justice they had won in court. The justice had come with a bitter aftertaste because for every person that had been brought to justice many more had gotten away with their crimes, secure in the knowledge that money and power had and would protect them from facing the music. But in the end justice did not matter so much to him. It was important, it was what he believed in, but truth was that justice was not why he got out of bed and made it to work everyday, he did that for the hope of finding someone alive, It was about the victims, not the criminals. He had to do them justice. Samantha seemed to have found some form of justice for herself.  
"Okay, then let's eat. Any place you have missed in particular?"

  
"In fact I have. Il Parioli. We have been there a few times."

They had eaten there together on several occasions and more often than not, dinner there had been leading up to a passionate night.

  
"We've haven't been there in a while, I think today is the perfect occasion."  
"To celebrate a victory." he added quickly, not sure whether Samantha would not take him the wrong way.

  
"Not only that." A shadow flew over her face. It's an occasion be with a special person that I have really missed while I was away."

__

Il Parioli, New York City

May 24, 2 p.m.

They were half-way through lunch when the conversation returned to the case that had just been dealt with in court. The trial might have been over but Samantha still had questions. There was a lot she didn't know. All she had done was testify to the events that had taken place the night she and Danny had been kidnapped.

"So what happened? Why did Robinson stand trial?" She asked Jack who had been on a mission to bring down the men behind the killings.

"I did what you told me." he smiled. "I talked to Victor Fitzgerald again. It took some work, but along with your statement I managed to convince him to actively pursue the search for Robinson. In the end it was his wife who gave him up. He was hiding out in Canada. He never said anything, expect that he was innocent. The FBI started pressuring other Agents he had been working with. They were offered deals that if they came forward with information, there would be no charged against them. Finally the medical examiner who had done Rita Severin's autopsy came forward. He admitted that he had been taking bribes from Robinson in exchange for covering up evidence. They exhumed Rita's body, but it was to late to proof that it was murder."

"Robinson did it. He should have gone down for murder." Samantha said angrily.

"Yes, he should have. But he didn't. He got away with a lot of things. He will get out of prison one day, that's what worries me. But luckily it will be a while before that."

"I know it doesn't matter now, but what happened really? I remember you said you knew who was behind it all." Samantha paused. "I was wrong not to help you. It was all too much for me at that time. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I was wrong to ask. You were right to tell me that I had lost my objectivity. It was true. I actually should have seen it from the start that it was something personal when I got that first threatening letter. By that time we had not uncovered anything that got us close to anyone, so there was no point in trying to scare us off. From then it just continued. More threat notes. Then the car bomb with the faulty trigger. If it had been a really sharp bomb, Vivian and I would have been killed for sure. Anyone with access to these explosives would have been able to make sure that we didn't survive. And that is what any larger organized crime syndicate would have intended. I could have realized that this was not what we were dealing with.

As soon as I suspected that it was him, I asked Lydia Atkinson's parents for a picture of her first husband. It was Carlyle with whom I had worked when he was still with the FBI. He was using the alias Markus Feldman at the time. And we know that Markus Feldman and Liam Kendall are the same person."

"But there is one thing I don't understand. How did it all get started?"

"Lydia Atkinson probably knew of her husband's dirty drug business from the time they were still married. Maybe she had even acquired a taste for the occasional high herself. But she also knew how dangerous those people were. So she used her friend Diane Durkin to get at the drugs or at a story. After all she was a journalist and her computer was never recovered. There is really no way to know what she was really up to. We know for sure that she was paying Diane for whatever she was doing. That involved the club Aragon. Diane went there the night she died and probably bought drugs from someone connected to Carlyle. They left together, but there was a disagreement on the way out to the cottage in the woods. Diane got out of the car and was run over by the driver. They dragged her into the woods. The driver probably told Carlyle about what had happened and they tried to clean up the mess. They called the police to report the car as stolen and shot Diane to make sure that she wasn't found alive by some motorist. I don't think it ever started out with the plan to kill Diane. But when she didn't return Lydia panicked. She probably suspected that Diane was dead. But before she could leave, Carlyle got to her. That would explain that there was no evidence of a break in. She knew her ex-husband and thought he wouldn't hurt her. But he kidnapped them both and then killed them. That's probably where Robinson entered the whole mess. By that time Carlyle knew that we were onto him and had already found the cottage in the woods. He needed another place to hide the bodies. He had Robinson burry them in North Carolina. It was risky since we were bound to show up there as well, but Carlyle left that part for Robinson to handle, I suspect. It was probably him who hired the sniper that tried to kill you and Martin."

"Yeah, he was at the trial as well. I was surprised that he didn't know who hired him. But Robinson was smart enough to do that anonymously."

"He was actually pretty smart in the beginning. It was only later that he started making mistakes. He panicked when he realized that he had gone too far and that Rita Severin was on to him. There he had no longer a choice, he had to get rid of her and then of two witnesses. That was not part of the plan. That's why he had to call Carlyle in the phone call that you overheard. Unfortunately we have nothing to proof that."

"It's unfair." Samantha said bitterly. "I guess the only reason why they didn't kill us outright was because they figured they might be able to use us as leverage in case something went it wrong." While she had been enjoying her dessert, she suddenly felt rather sick. The wealth of information had been a bit much.

"Are you all right?" Jack saw that she suddenly looked unwell.

__

Jack Malone's apartment, New York City

May 24, 5 p.m.  


They has somehow found their way back to his apartment. They had not particularly made there way there, somehow what had started as casual stroll, an aimless wander through the city had taken them both back to Jack's apartment. This was the first time Samantha ever was inside Jack's apartment. She had learned from Maria that he had moved out, but she had forgotten it until now. She had never seen his family home. When they had spent an evening together, it had usually started in restaurant and then ended in her apartment. His place had always been out of the question. Not so much because he was married. Maria and the children were absent quite often on week-end when they were visiting Maria's mother who lived upstate. But they had never considered going there. Sa, had always felt uncomfortable at the thought of intruding in his married life and he had never suggest the venue. Now that he was living separated, there was no more reason why she shouldn't. As she had expected, it was simply. Jack didn't spend a lot of time in his apartment, so aesthetic considerations were not foremost. She only fully realized that after moving out of the city that aspects of decoration mattered fare more when one actually spend time at home instead of working sixteen hours a day. When she used to come home exhausted, it had simply not mattered to her how exactly her living room looked. She had plenty of other things demanding her time and energy. 

"Now, that you're here to stay, there is something I have been meaning to give you. I wanted to return it to you for a while, but never got the chance." Jack got up and reached for the cardboard box which was still sitting on the top shelf, in the same spot as he had put it five months ago. Now that Samantha was back, he could finally take it down. Samantha followed his movement with her eyes. He sat down the box in front of her. She didn't touch it, but eyed it curiously then looked up at him, a question on her face.

"When you were missing.." he broke off then begun again. When they had called off the search.." he halted again, unable to find ten right words, a way to say this without giving her the impression that he had given up on her, had given up hope and surrendered to the belief that she was gone. 

"Vivian cleaned out your desk. Your mother didn't want your things, so she gave them to me. I kept them, just in case."

He pushed the box closer to her side of the table. Samantha lifted the lid and examined the contents, if she was eyeing all this for the first time. She took out the nameplate. She had strange look on her face, sadness, with a hint of fear. Jack was starting to wonder whether this had been the right time for this, She had seen in such a good mood, back to her old self, he didn't want to reopen any barely healed wounds.

The nameplate was heavy. Its surface felt cool and smooth to the touch. Special Agent Samantha Spade. She read out the inscription. It had been a while, since she had been Special Agent Samantha Space. Special Agents. Was she still the same person? In spit of her new-found determination that question still plagued her. 

"You think that is still me?" she blurted out, verbalizing the question she had only fully realized a moment ago.

Of course jack replied and put his hands on her shoulders. You're still the same person, you just have grown with experience, good and bad experience. But nobody can ever take away who you are. You're still a good agents." Samantha didn't reply, she set the nameplate down on the table. She returned her attention to the remaining items in the cardboard box. She took out the flyer which had caught jack's attention when he had first spotted it, She carefully unfolded the appear, as if not sure what to expect. As she looked at it her expression changed, from curious to a blank, seemingly far away, lost impression. Whatever it was, seeing the flyer must have triggered something in her and from what it looked like it was not a happy memory.

"He lived down the street from his, His sister and \I were best friends. Her parents had gone to see friends and were babysitting him. He was asleep upstairs, we were down in the living room watching TV. We had the best time, we were drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. Two friends came over around midnight. I don't know much of what happened after that. We got really drunk. I only woke up the next morning when my friend's parents noticed that Steven was missing from his bedroom. There was no sign of a break-in. He was never found. At the time, I didn't blame myself, but later." Samantha broke off.

"I'm sorry." Jack said softly and pulled her into a hug.

__

Jack Malone's apartment, New York City

May 25, 5.30 a.m.  
  
The sun was rising, reflecting off of the myriad of mirror windows on the buildings downtown. Slowly the first rays of sun cast into the room, falling onto the floor and slowly starting to rise on the walls. Samantha had been awake for quite some time, sitting in bed, calmly, letting the world spin, doing nothing. She wanted to enjoy the lingering feeling of the previous night before facing an uncertain and if she was honest, frightening future. With Jack and her working together again, even if he no was't married anymore, they were still breaking conduct riles, not to mention the problem that personal feelings at to work place could bring, they had learned that lesson the hard way. No. It wasn't going to be easy going to work together again with same feelings between them, knowing that they had to keep them hidden from the prying eyes of others. Living with the question of who knew how much and who had seen what. But there was no alternative, She had to go back to work because that was her job and without it her life felt incomplete. She had needed the time away, she could not have gotten straight back to work, she still wondered how Danny had managed. But during those five months she had started to miss her work as something more than just what filled her waking hours, but as a purpose, as what she wanted to do with her life. She had not been a hundred percent sure that she was really going to be able to follow through with it, but yesterday on that bench she had made the final decision. Maybe it was the rush from the trial that had finally given her the push she needed, maybe it had been Jack's reassuring words, she didn't know and it didn't matter. She knew that she was doing the right thing. Careful not to wake the still sleeping Jack, she got up and walked over to the window. By now the ray of sunlight had risen half up the walls. It was time to go. Jack had to go to work and she had to get ready for her flight back. But this time, she wasn't going to stay away. As soon as she had things sorted out, she would return to the city for good. Careful not to make much noise, she got dressed and slipped out of Jack's apartment.  


Jack was woken by the sound of the door to his apartment closing. He felt the bed beside him, but didn't find another body there. He sat up, and found himself alone in bed. For a moment, he was thinking that it might all have been a dream. Maybe he had just imagined that Samantha had come back. But when he spotted the single blond hair on the pillow next to him, he was reassured that it was all real. Samantha had decided to come back to the FBI.

  
In a few minutes he would be Jack Malone the FBI agent again and the realm in which the night had taken place would be a thing of the past. Work, their common love would come between them again. But maybe that was just for the best. Their dedication to the FBI and especially to the work at the missing persons unit was essential to both of them and giving that up was too high a price. It wasn't an option that they had ever even talked about. He had come to accept that he might never seen Samantha again, that she had turned away fro her former life for good and had been overjoyed when she had come back. Seeing her happy at work was the best thing that could have come off this situation. The darkness of what had happened would always cast a shadow over all those who had been touched by it.

__

The End

Note: I owe immeasurable thanks to D and M are their help and advice. Without you this story would have been a lot less readable. Thanks to anyone who has read and reviewed this story, it means a lot to me. And lastly, shanks as always to the Mst gang for rocking so hard.


End file.
